The Lowest Common Denominator
by wickless
Summary: Q, the once omnipotent trickster, loses his powers and becomes a drug smuggler. Spin-off of "Deja Q." M for language, drug use, violence, and sex.
1. Chapter 1

The Lowest Common Denominator

[M] For language, adult situations, sexuality, drugs and violence.

_So impressed with all you do_

_Tried so hard to be like you_

_Flew too high and burnt the wing_

_Lost my faith in everything_

_Lick around divine debris_

_Taste the wealth of hate in me_

_Shedding skin succumb defeat_

_This machine is obsolete_

_Made the choice to go away_

_Drink the fountain of decay_

_Tear a hole exquisite red_

_Fuck the rest and stab it dead_

_Broken bruised forgotten sore_

_Too fucked up to care anymore_

_Poisoned to my rotten core_

_Too fucked up to care anymore_

_--"Somewhat Damaged"_

_Nine Inch Nails (The Fragile)_

**-Present-**

The bartender had been of no help. As far as the councilor was concerned, the prospect of aiding a fellow mortal in need was a lost practice in such a place as Dessica II. The tavern was overrun with vagrants of all makes, cultures and backgrounds. Some appeared for a drink, others came merely to do business free from the prying eyes of the law.

And though there were those who clearly outranked others in social status, each being and species there shared one common trait. They spoke the same language. These people belonged here, in one way or another. This was a common ground for them. They were used to the stench, the filth, the corruption and obstruction of justice. The violence was as common as many of the people who participated in such vile and base acts. Murder, bribery, substance abuse and profit. Each ran together in a continuous circle, a cycle no one was willing or able to break upon entering it.

But the clientele of this stingy, dank bar, with its rickety chairs and watered drinks was a catalyst for a much greater scheme. And everyone there was well aware of this scheme, and knew exactly what it was and how it flourished. As for Councilor Deanna Troi, she had no idea.

She resolved to find out.

"T'sa fuckin' shame." A man sitting at the bar counter beside her was slurring to his fifth glass of Cardassian ale. His nose was nearly drowning in the colored liquid, and his eyes rolled back in his head in a senseless stupor. "A fuckin' shame..."

Troi pretended she did not notice the man's rambling, and tried to regain the bartender's attention. She was fully aware that she did not exactly fit into the disheveled crowd, despite her disguise, but was determined to fulfill what she had came here to do. The fate of Captain Picard depended on it.

Unfortunately, the Dessican bartender remained obstinately uncooperative. Through the crowded cantina, filled nearly to the brim with sweating, cursing bodies, Troi could make out a vaguely familiar figure standing ramrod straight in the doorway. She could barely make out his features, but could identify wisps of golden hair and pale skin. But before she could further scrutinize his haggard appearance, he had disappeared. The councilor agonized over it a moment, racking her brain in hopes she could remember what was so oddly familiar about the man.

She considered following him in hopes of uncovering more about Picard's disappearance. Perhaps there was a connection between the two. But, instead, she decided to remain at the counter. There was still business to be done here.

Troi shouted across the bar counter to the tender, her tone rising by degrees to outmatch the loud voices of conversation in the dimly lit lounge. He did not so much as turn around.

Frustrated beyond measure, and about ready to abandon this method of interrogation, Troi noticed the man beside her slump across the counter in a state of a drunken coma, causing his glass to spill its contents over her.

Absorbed in wringing the alcohol from her clothing, Troi was only distantly aware of a hand owned by a second man creeping up and grasping the drunk firmly by the shoulder and pulling him away from the bar counter to make room for himself. As the unconscious man fell to the floor in a crumpled, unpleasant heap, the second man made himself comfortable on the stool beside her.

"Hell, Freddie," the man drawled in a low, husky voice as he addressed their host. "Would it really defile you t' clean this mess up at least once before I get here?" He made a disgusted snort, which to Troi sounded sarcastically impudent at the same time, and swept the counter with a gloved hand, wiping off the previous patron's saliva away so he could rest his elbows on the countertop. "Uck." He sneered at his gloves. "Human body fluids. This isn't my idea of keepin' up appearances."

To Troi's surprise, the bartender turned to lean against the bar counter and address his new, ingratiating patron with a friendly glower. "I know yer a regular here, Abel, but if you call me 'Freddie' one more time, I'm gonna break yer goddamn nose."

The man, Abel, covered his nose with a hand as if to protect it, and chuckled playfully. "Lay off the nose, Freddie. You know it's my best feature." Then he leaned forward dangerously, his thick voice turning to mock-menace. "And you know better 'n anyone here that you'd be takin' an awful risk attempting it, my friend."

The tender nodded grimly in understanding, then shook his head in amazement. "What are y' doing back here, Abel?" He regarded the man closely as he dried off a clean glass with a dirty dishrag. "Last time you were here, you were boasting about new business propositions in the Gamma Quadrant."

As Abel thought up an appropriate response, Troi took this lull in conversation to inspect the man sitting beside her out the corner of her eye. As she ostensibly kept her attention focused on her drink, she averted her eyes to the side to watch his actions intently.

The man was quite the imposing figure, built tall and muscular, but hardly heavy. He was sitting on his stool as if it were a horse, long legs spread as he slouched forward with his elbows on the bar counter. She was unable to identify his uniform, but the armor was most certainly alien. He wore black pants of a leather quality that clung tightly to his well-sculptured body and scuffed boots. His breastplate and armor was crisscrossed with scoring from numerous phaser blasts. He wore a phaser of his own in plain view, but somehow Troi was sure he carried more weapons than that. Whatever his line of work was, it was most certainly dangerous.

As for Abel's face, it was concealed by his helmet, which was quite offset from his gruff attire. It gave him the appearance of an ancient Spartan. But whatever his lineage, the councilor found herself oddly attracted to this masculine man who had a powerful body odor that was not the least bit offensive.

But there was something familiar about him as well, though she was positive she had never seen him before. The uniform for instance, as well as his petulant mannerisms. And the sound of his deep voice. Though he dressed and talked in the same vernacular language as everyone there, Troi was sure he did not belong among this crowd. He was intelligent, that much was discernible, and deserved a life of peace, not of lying in a gutter such as this bar.

And, according to the tender, he was a regular. Which most likely meant that he knew what had become of Captain Picard.

"Yeah, I said that, didn't I?" Abel drawled, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Well, let's jus' say I had a change of plans."

Troi frowned, trying to read him, but found him as unreadable as a book written in a foreign language. That helmet. What was it about that helmet...?

The bartender laughed hoarsely. "Yranac got you on his payroll again?"

"Yranac is dead, Freddie, didn't ya know?"

The other was nonplussed for a good three seconds. "Dead? God, Abe, ya didn't--"

Abel laughed, slapping his knee as if he had found something blatantly humorous in the observation. "Moi? Murder Yranac?" His voice turned somber. "I admit he was scum, but," he held up his gloved hands innocently. "No blood here, these hands are clean. I s'ppose he knew too much."

Freddie smirked to the other knowingly as he began to mix his drink. "Let me guess, yer run was successful, then?"

Troi could imagine the man next to her grinning widely. He straightened again, his hands running over his chest as he visibly preened. "Fifty-eight crates, Freddie, all safe. By this time next month, you'll be drinkin' with a human more 'n worth his weight in latinum."

"And t' think, jus' three years ago you were afraid to so much as touch a disruptor." He sighed, and both men shared an awkward moment. "Shit, boy, look at how far you've come."

"Dammit, Freddie..."

"No, honestly. So, how's yer ship?"

Abel shrugged. "The old bitch has some damage done to her. We got in a little scuffle when we were crossin' the Romulan-Fed boarder."

"Ferengi again?"

"Uh-huh. Those bastards hate my fucking guts, I tell you."

The tender smiled again, not a pleasant look, considering his face. "Everyone hates you, Abel. I thought yer ship was the fastest in the universe, all this transwarp technology you rigged up..."

Abel set his teeth in indignation. "Well, here we was, about ready to jump to warp when they attacked us." His gloved hands made gestures, cutting through the air as he simulated the confrontation. "Bam, didn't go through our shields, but shook us up pretty good, y'know? But we got them back, blew them to another dimension."

The bartender nodded appreciatively and set the finished alcoholic beverage before its owner. "Here's yer regular, Abel, congrats are in order. Hope all goes well on yer next run."

The man watched the other retreat back into the bar and absently scratched at the remains of lipstick encrusted around the glass's rim with a finger. "'Regular'." He laughed to himself flatly, shaking his head as he nursed his drink. "Can you believe that?"

He was talking to her, Troi noticed, but he was not so much as looking at her. Apparently, he did not want to talk to himself. She remained quiet.

"Well, I don't," Abel rambled on. "I was supposed t' be doing this to escape the routines, not start 'em." He snorted. "But that's humanity for you, huh? Things have a way of sneaking up on ya..."

Troi sat up, her ears pricking up at this last statement. The words themselves rang familiar, but the harsh bitterness displayed in them further piqued her interest. She twisted in her stool abruptly to stare at him in shock, suddenly realizing Abel's true identity. The Betazoid lowered her voice so it was only heard by the both of them.

"Q...?"

It was a simple letter, but it was enough to make the man beside her stiffen and cut himself off mid-sentence.

Abel turned to her for the first time, and Troi was finally able to catch his face. His features were harder than she had remembered, three years of living life on the edge having taken its toll on him. But the impetuous set of his lips, the disobedient twinkling in his dark eyes, they were exactly as they had been before. In fact, the only change in his face Troi could see was the scar that ran down his nose, as if it had been badly broken before and unskillfully stitched together.

But his body posture was something else entirely. She had been correct to peg him as imposing. The awkwardness in his body since she had last seen him was all gone now. Here was not only a man who was skilled in the use of his limbs as appendages, but using his entire body as a missile. Three years of drug-trafficking and smuggling and fast-paced battles with the authorities had honed his abilities to the finest mark. He appeared sleek, fast, primal, and most certainly: deadly. Troi decided immediately not to treat him as the same Q she had met five years before.

He smiled at Troi, extending a gloved hand towards her. "Abel Keynan, madam." His larger hand clutched hers firmly at her side. "No one's called me 'Q' since..." His voice suddenly trailed off and he frowned, leaning forward. His eyes widened as he stared at her in disbelief, his hand pulling her closer. "_Troi_?"

They met eyes, and the councilor felt her heart catching in her throat.

Q had disappeared from the Enterprise only three years before, kidnapped by the Aldreenian ambassador. When they had gotten word that he had been sold off to the Tätarians, they had naturally assumed...but now, here he was. Alive, and, apparently, as human as ever. "Hey, Dianna. Whoo-hoo." He waved a hand over her face. "You still there?"

Troi blinked, and smiled slightly at the intended mispronunciation of her first name.

Q pulled his helmet up to get a better look at her, his lips curling at the sides. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

She noted with some suspicion that he was whispering to her as he dropped the use of his slang. And he had a hand on her shoulder. Somehow, it was comforting.

Q, comforting _her_?

"We thought you were dead," Troi said casually. _Be careful here_. She was undercover, and there was still a good chance that this was not even Q.

He pulled back, returning to his drink as he shot her a sidelong glance that was somehow both aloof and seductive. "This might sound trite, but I've heard that line before." He smiled wistfully at the ceiling. "It's usually said in dismay."

Questions filled Troi's mind, and she tried to organize them in the brief period permitted to her as she formed a response. In the meantime, she noted with some discomfort that Q was appraising her garments up and down, racking her body with appreciative eyes. Suddenly she realized another change in him. It was his sexuality. The Q Troi remembered was innocent, baring himself away from intimacy of any kind. Abel Keynan, on the other hand, had learned to use his sexuality to his advantage. A big question was raised suddenly, and it took all of the councilor's strength to repress the urge to ask it.

Q pulled something off his person and unwrapped a package about the size of a cough-drop, revealing a white cube that took the appearance of sugar. He ground this up between two palms, dusted the crumbs into his drink, stirred, and sipped from it. Noticing her questioning look, he shrugged his muscled shoulders. "Bad habit."

Troi frowned, disturbed by what she saw in him. The question of "how" was reaching her lips when he cut her off.

"You've finished your drink." Q straightened and snapped his fingers, shouting across the bar. "What the fuck kind of service is this? Someone get the woman a drink!"

Stunned, Troi clutched his arm, momentarily in awe at the feel of his strength under her fingertips. "Q, you don't have to--"

"Oh, it's no trouble, darling." Q smiled and nodded as the tender rushed up, set a beverage in front of her, and rushed off.

Troi looked from her drink and then back to the one who had ordered it. Apparently, Q had quite some pull here.

Q continued to nurse his alcohol, smirking at her naiveté at trying to slurp her drink unsuccessfully through its straw. "So," he drawled, wetting his lips. "Let me guess. Picard fired you, and you have decided to change your field of expertise from psychology to stripping."

Frowning, Troi eyed him for a moment. "Q, that's not why--"

"Abel."

"Abel," she corrected. "I'm here on a mission..."

"By _yourself_?"

"No, Commander Riker, Worf and Doctor Crusher are here with me."

Abel's eyes lit up devilishly, and all doubt that this was not the real Q was suddenly extinguished. "Riker's here? Hmm. What about Picard? How is the good captain keeping up?"

Troi stared at him. "Q--_Abel_--Captain Picard has been missing for two weeks."

His brows raised in surprise, then he glanced away. "And this was the last place he was seen...?"

"Yes." She came closer to him, watching his face intently. The councilor had spent over two weeks trying to read him when he had first become human, and she had thought they had made some progress. "Q, do you have any idea where he might be?"

Q shook his head. "I've been...out of town for a while." He turned back around, sipped from his drink, and eyed her blue dress again. "I think you can blame your lack of progress on that get-up of yours, though."

Troi felt herself becoming insulted, but covered it up. This was getting her no where, and not helping Captain Picard. "Possibly," she admitted. "But maybe if I knew what you were doing here undercover for, we'd be able to--"

His face blanched, and he set his teeth.

_Terrific way with words, Deanna._ She cursed inwardly, frustrated and angry with herself. _Why didn't you just call him a lowlife and stop beating around the bush?_

"I mean--" Troi started.

"I know what you mean," Q said harshly, narrowing his eyes at her.

His face spoke volumes, and Troi could read all the pain, all the suffering and stress he had endured in the past three years. She suddenly found herself feeling sympathy for him and his position in society. Q had never anticipated this happening to himself, had never wanted to be thrown into a powerless body and tossed across the universe to fend for himself. Somehow, she blamed herself. Picard had called upon her and Data to watch over him, and instead they had failed. In those three years he had been gone, Q had lost all his innocence and had replaced it with a bitter, resilient will to live no matter what.

"I know what you're thinking," he went on. "Here's Q, a once omnipotent god who could have been anything he wanted. A physicist, an engineer, a scientist, a professor, an astrophysicist, an astronomer...anything. And instead, here I am, at the bottom of the food chain, scum even by human standards." Q turned to gaze at her sincerely, his eyes almost hypnotic in their serene determination. "But you know why I chose this life, Councilor?"

She shook her head.

"I'm an independent individual, Dianna. I believe I told your captain something along those lines on my first day as a human. The truth of the matter is that if I had the opportunity to chose between poverty under freedom and wealth under the Federation, I would chose the former. I wouldn't change one goddamn thing if it meant living my life by my own rules."

"Even if it meant living like this?" Troi asked, gesturing around the cesspool as she tried to ignore his use of the word 'goddamn'.

Q smiled, following her indication. "These are my friends, darling. I was an outcast in my own society, a renegade and fugitive from the law. It seems fashionably proper for me to be the same here, hmm?"

Troi nodded, understanding his reasoning but not agreeing with it. "I think you could have flourished on the Enterprise if only you had given it a chance, but you do seem to fit in well here. What's more, I would never have guessed you to ever grow accustomed to being human."

He warmed at that, and he leaned closer, his deep voice growing more intimate that she would have expected from someone as emotionally shallow as she had remembered him. "Practice, Deanna," he murmured, tracing her jawbone with a gloved finger. "Practice and a lot of training."

Feeling herself beginning to tingle from under his touch, Troi pulled away slightly but did not tear herself from his eyes. She forced her voice level. "What is it you exactly do for a living?"

Smirking at her alluringly, Q returned to nursing his drink. "The name Abel Keynan doesn't ring any bells in any late Starfleet reports, Councilor?"

"No, I--" Then she frowned. The name was vaguely familiar. Her eyes widened at him when it hit her full force. "Wait, wasn't he the drug smuggler who stormed Starbase 138 a few months ago for their store of medical narcotics?"

Q sat up pleasantly, tipping his helmet down in affirmation. "The one and only."

"You destroyed the base," Troi went on, narrowing her eyes. "Over five hundred people died."

He scowled. "Of all my infamous deeds, this is what you remember. I made a year's worth pay on that run, you know."

She stared at him in disgust, moving to leave. It was probably a mistake, but this man made a worse human than he did a Q. And just looking at him suddenly made her sick all over.

Q must have developed some depth of perception over the years, because he immediately saw this and grabbed her by the arm. "No, you have it wrong. I'm not proud of that, it hadn't even been part of my plan to kill those mortals, even if their lives meant nothing to me. I admit, I am as selfish as always, but I'm ashamed of that. There was a malfunction in my ship's warp core when we made our getaway. It was unavoidable. It wasn't an act of terrorism. We had to eject it."

Troi didn't buy it for an instant. "Your helmet--"

"...is blocking out your mind-raping capabilities, I know. If I took it off, will it help convince you?"

She was nonplussed upon hearing the statement, especially from Q, who in the past would never have made such a sacrifice. Troi reminded herself to just admit that he had changed. In some ways for the better, in others for the worse.

"No, that would be unnecessary." She shifted her position on the stool. "I just never expected you to be capable of such callow disregard for life, considering you've fought so hard for your own."

Q was thoughtfully silent for a moment, and if she hadn't known better, Troi would have said he was somehow commemorating the dead.

He crumbled another cube of drugs into his alcohol and sipped from it.

Troi watched him guzzle his drink of toxins as if it were water. "That's a good way to abuse your body, you know."

Turning, he shot her a knowing, sultry grin, one of his hands caressing his right thigh pointedly. "Oh? Do you really think I've been abusing my body, Dianna?"

Feeling her face redden, Troi glanced away.

A man dressed similarly to Q took this moment to grasp her by the shoulders, nearly forcing her off her stool.

"C'mon, baby," the man whispered into her ear, causing her to gag on his foul breath. "Let's go."

Troi held her ground, trying to pull away and finding herself locked under his stronger hands. "Go where?" she demanded steadily as her mind began to whirl with options of escape.

"Who cares?" the man sneered. "If you're worth your money--"

Q laughed, covering his face with a hand. When Troi glared at him from her struggles, he smiled, elaborating. "He thinks you're a prostitute."

She struggled harder against the man, who seemed content to carry her off if she remained uncooperative. The councilor stared pointedly at Q, who seemed content to just watch from his vantage point while he simpered.

Troi stared at him, her sharp eyes clearly saying something along the lines of: "Well, do something!"

Sighing as if the act pained him, Q straightened up to his full height and pulled his helmet down as he addressed the man. "Hey, back off, friend."

The man turned his sneer to Q. "Stay outta this, Abel, this is between me and the woman."

"I'm sure it is, but she's with me."

Abruptly, the man pulled the councilor to the side to get a better look at Q. She set her teeth, resenting the position of the damsel in distress role she was suddenly taking. "Is that supposed t' impress me or something?"

The drug smuggler tipped his drink to his aggressor benignly. "The rock that don't impress you can also hit ya upside th' head." He winked to Troi playfully.

"Don't you ever shut up?" the man spat, tightening his grip around Troi's shoulders and leering at him when she squirmed in pain. "What are ya gonna do?"

It had happened faster than her eyes could make out, but Troi was aware then of Q extending an arm forward, followed by a loud, definite popping noise as bone was snapped in two like a twig. Her shoulders were immediately released, and the man behind her clutched at his nose with both hands, cursing angrily as it bled furiously over the front of his shirt.

Troi heard a few enthusiastic claps resound throughout the bar, and Q mock-bowed kindly for his audience. Wiping blood off his fist, he returned his attention to his drink.

The councilor stared at her rescuer, who had shrugged the violence off. She had expected Q to verbally assault him, or somehow convince the man into letting her go, not punch him in the face. When Troi had last known Q, he had been a pacifist adamantly opposed to violence. He had considered it...

"I thought you considered violence barbarous?" she asked him carefully.

The bartender was the one to answer incredulously. "Abel? Consider violence barbarous?" He snorted, leaning against the counter as if about to tell her a dirty secret. "Maybe three years ago, yeah. I remember he insulted a pair of Klingons once and nearly became a red smear on th' floor. His first instinct was t' curl up into a ball an' hide."

Troi watched Q's face change from passive to furious instantly, and knew the tapster was telling the truth.

Freddie saw the murderous expression cross Q's features, and held up his hands in a sign of peace. "But once we taught him a thing or two, he was picking fights with everyone who so much as looked at 'im the wrong way."

Troi stared at Q in disbelief, and he only shrugged his shoulders. "When in Rome, as they say."

The councilor looked her former client up and down again. She was suddenly positive that Q was quite skilled in all types of physical combat, and slightly feared this knowledge as well. "What else did you teach him?" Troi inquired, finding herself intrigued.

"Oh, everything he knows now. He even saved my life once." The bartender went on as Q withdrew into himself and his drink. "He was a tough study, yeah, but we stuck t' it. Poor guy barely knew nothing about how t' use his body. We hadda start from the ground up, y'know? But I guess we felt sorry about his amnesia and everything..."

Q forced a weak laugh. "Freddie, why don't ya shut the hell up and go make some drinks like a good little bartender? The lady isn't interested in yer crazy stories."

"Fine, Fine." The tapster moved to retreat. "I just thought you'd like t' know that ya have competition."

Q's lips curled. "Freddie, what the fuck are ya--?" But he had already disappeared to look over another patron, leaving Q and the councilor to exchange glances.

"Nice story," a voice was saying from far away, coming closer. "I'll remember it the next time I'm in a knife fight."

Troi noticed the crowd being shoved aside, and in an instant, Riker was standing beside her.

"Any leads?" he asked her quietly, his brown eyes darting around through the crowd as he drew closer.

The councilor looked to Q, but the seat he had previously occupied was empty. Masking her confusion, she glanced back to Riker. "Not thus far, Commander..."

"I don't like this place," he said. "I don't see how anyone could possibly stand it." Then the commander straightened, feeling something blunt and hard poke him in the back.

"Oh, I don't know," Q drawled affably from behind him. "It can grow on you after a while, give or take a year or two."

Riker stiffened, noticing Troi's frown from the corner of his eye as he tried to identify the familiar voice.

"Abel--" Troi started.

"Hush, sweetheart," Q bit out, enunciating every word with a pointed stab of his disruptor against Riker's spine. "Now, hands up, Commander."

"I don't believe this is happening," Riker groaned, raising his arms into the air. What angered him most of all was that those around them who had bothered to notice he was about to be murdered were only smiling at him as if sharing some kind of private joke. Even Troi did not appear overly concerned for his well-being.

Q nodded pleasantly. "Good Federation lackey. Now hand me yer wallet. Easy, now."

Riker searched himself for a moment. Then he feigned, spun, and knocked the disruptor from Q's hand. The weapon flew across the room, spiraling as the commander swiftly moved to punch his disarmed attacker in the face. But Q, despite being slowed by drugs and alcohol, was faster, and evaded the blow by leisurely dodging his assailant's fist as he drew out a fresh phaser at the same time.

Without the flesh of Q's face to cushion the blow, Riker's hand hit the bulkhead, sending a wave of agony flowing from his knuckles to the rest of his arm. As he stifled a cry of pain, clutching his injured hand, Q towered over him, shoving his phaser in the commander's face.

"Redoubtable heroics, Commander." Q smirked. "Tell me, who taught you that impressive move? Tsk, tsk, tsk. For Picard's sake, I'm quite glad your captain is not here to witness this shameful moment in history."

Riker, seething, was in no mood for this. "Look, if you're going to kill me, just shut up and get it over with."

"Me? Kill you? Why would I do such a thing? I just wanted to see your facial expression." He holstered his phaser, and nodded kindly to a woman who had retrieved his disruptor for him. "Thank you, my dear."

Straightening up as he tried to regain his lost composure, Riker glared into the other's face. Q blinked down at him innocently.

It took Riker five full seconds to realize who he was looking at. "You!" he thundered. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Q smiled thinly to Troi and pointed to Riker with his disruptor. "This is the dismay I was talking to you about."

"I should have known," Riker went on, closing in on the smuggler. "You were behind this all along, just stringing us for the past three years, leading us to just another one of your twisted Q-tests."

"Another one of my twisted Q-tests?"

"What have you done with Captain Picard?"

Q stroked his chin, regarding the commander in bemusement. "What have I done with Captain Picard?"

"I have no time for your riddles, Q. We won't cooperate. The game is over. Bring him back."

The other straightened to his full height, and Troi was impressed to see that Q's height and frame clearly overshadowed the commander's. As the smuggler circled Riker as if he were fresh prey, the councilor tensed, envisioning having to beam the commander onboard the Enterprise piece by piece.

"Hmm," Q drawled as he circled Riker for the last time before settling himself back on a bar stool with his back facing the counter as he reclined back luxuriously in a lazy aplomb, posing with his legs spread apart alluringly. He seemed to ponder the other for a moment. "Same old Riker," he said at last, his disruptor disappearing into his armor. "Yes, you're a little more impassioned and single-minded than I last recall, but same old Riker nonetheless."

The commander stared at Q, scrutinizing him closely for the first time. Troi was sure she could see the lights of comprehension going off in his head as he realized this was not the same Q he had known before.

"What happened to you?" Riker blurted out, indicating his get-up with some disdain.

Q's eyes widened.

Troi cleared her throat. "Commander Riker, meet Abel Keynan."

Riker made a choking noise. "Abel Keynan?"

Q crossed his arms over his chest. "In the flesh."

Scratching at his beard, the commander tentatively approached Q, bending over him so he could look the other in the eye. Q did not move, and allowed the other to scan him from helmet to boots.

"Abel Keynan _the fugitive_?"

Q made an expansive gesture cheerfully.

Riker sighed, the ridiculousness of this situation giving him a headache. "Q..."

"Abel."

"Abel. Any help you can offer on what is going on here would be greatly appreciated."

"Your situation appears to be quite bleak, Commander."

Riker was not about to let himself be set up. "Are you still human?"

"I don't seem to have a fork on me at the moment. If I did, I would be able to prove it..."

"How did you get here? And don't give me the philosophical answer. Just tell me what happened to bring you from being a physicist aboard the Enterprise to a...drug trafficker."

Q pouted sulkily. "You're rather demanding, considering I'm the one with the gun." Then he stood, lifting his nose into the air. "In fact, I don't know what I'm wasting my time for, talking to you when I could be spending my weekend getting drunk before I have to get back to work tomorrow."

Riker grasped him by the arm before he could leave. Then, frowning, he felt Q's biceps more closely in amazement.

"Are you enjoying that, Riker?"

Controlling himself, Riker forced his hand to his side. "Q," he said cautiously. "You're a criminal."

"Fine, I'm always the bad guy, no matter what form I'm in. If it wasn't for me, your lovely councilor here would be getting fucked by that distasteful man with the bloody nose."

Riker swallowed past the words, trying to put from his mind how wrong this all was. "Listen to me, Q--Abel. There are people out there who would shoot you first before they'd even consider asking any questions. In all fairness, I should hand you over to the Federation right now and be done with it."

Q offered him his wrists calmly.

The commander batted them away. "But I'm not going to, as long as you help us find Captain Picard."

"Ah, the blackmail stunt again." Q set his arms akimbo on his hips. "Sometimes I think you Starfleet prigs are good for nothing else. Here," he pulled out his disruptor again. "How about I kill both of you right now, then we can forget this all happened?" He shrugged. "It isn't as if I could possibly lighten my sentence anyway."

This was said in a half-joking manner, but Q was twirling the weapon around as if trying to decide what to do with it.

Riker set his teeth and glanced to Troi, who appeared equally as concerned. "Have you, ah, used that before?" he asked.

"Oh, hell yeah," he said conversationally as he practiced numerous fighting poses and stances to demonstrate. When he was confident they were rightfully impressed, he pocketed the disruptor again. "I've done shoot-outs, armed combat and such, but never murder."

Riker found himself slightly relieved to hear this. He was sure he did not want to see how handy Q was with a disruptor. Somehow, Q with a phaser was more frightening than Q with omnipotent powers.

"So," Troi broke in. "Does this mean you'll assist us?"

Q glanced up, giving Riker a sharp look. "Lets get one thing straight. I only smuggle drugs." He made an extraneous gesture. "And sometimes contraband. I do not kidnap aged captains. I assure you, I have a reliable alibi for the day your captain disappeared."

Riker and Troi started. "Captain Picard was kidnapped?"

"I never said that."

"That's exactly what you said!" Riker burst out.

Q waved it off, returning to his stool. There, he propped an arm around the councilor's back as he outstretched a gloved hand and clutched the beverage the bartender had handed him. "And when did you start listening to what I have say?" he retorted smoothly, sipping from the glass.

Riker was about to fabricate a response when a man slid up beside Q and wrapped his arms around him. The commander was then nonplussed to see the smuggler disengage his arm from the councilor and set his drink down to hold the man closer as if they were old lovers.

The man embraced Q with all his strength and buried his face in his chest. "Q," he whispered, kissing the leather over Q's chest. "I was looking all over for you."

Troi and Riker exchanged glances, surprised by the man's use of Q's real name. He was dressed similarly to their smuggling comrade, though not as elaborately, and the councilor realized that this was the blonde-haired man she had barely recognized from before.

"I'm guessing you missed me then?" Q teased his companion, feeling the man's hands tenderly stroke the crotch of his pants in plain view of the dumbfounded Starfleet officers.

"Mmhm," the man kissed Q on the lips lightly, causing their helmets to clank together.

Troi frowned. Why was this exchange so familiar?

Q raised a brow, his lips smirking playfully. His entire body began to shiver when the man caressed his sides in soft, circular motions. Slowly, he drew another kiss from his lover. "Then what's the problem?"

The man kissed his way down Q's throat. "Your contact is here, and he's waiting for you behind the bar."

Q cursed--a rather impressive curse, in Riker's opinion. "Tell him to jump into a black hole. I didn't come here to talk--" he gasped in sharply. "And Sal, get off me, you know I can't breathe when you do that."

The man reluctantly climbed off Q's chest. "I think you'd like to talk to him. He's getting ansy. I think we can twist triple out of him, but you have to come _now_."

"Triple?"

The other grinned. "I knew you'd see it my way." He massaged one of his lover's thighs.

Closing his eyes, Q only nodded. "And the others?"

"They're ready and waiting for you." His hands lingered lower over the thin fabric. "We still have those fifty crates we need to deliver first, don't you forget."

"I don't forget."

Riker cleared his throat noisily.

Both men turned around, and Q's face lit up, having forgotten all about the other two bystanders. "Ah, Commander Riker and Councilor Troi!" He gestured to his companion pleasantly with a gloved hand. "You remember Ambassador Shien of Aldreen, do you not?"

All three locked eyes in shock. Troi frowned while Riker worked his jaw. This was most definitely Sal Shien, the Aldreenian and mercenary who had kidnapped Q from the Enterprise only three years before.

Apparently, Shien recognized them as well, because he clutched Q by the arms as if trying to protect him. "Abel! These people are from the Enterprise." When his lover only sipped from his drink, unaffected, he whirled to the officers frantically. "Look, don't hurt him! If you have to arrest him, take me too! I'm the one who got him into this..."

Riker waved it away. "No one's getting arrested. We're all in the same boat. Do you remember a man by the name of Captain Picard, Mister Shien?"

"He has been missing for the past two weeks," Troi added.

Shien turned to Q. "Do they mean the dark-skinned creature who did not seem to like you very much?"

"No, no." Q made a grand gesture. "That was Worf. Captain Picard was the balding gentleman who did not like me very much."

"Ah, him."

"So you know what became of him?" Troi asked, watching Shien's face closely. Damn those helmets, she could not sense anything from either one of them.

Shien shook his head. "I only come here because of Abel. He'd know more about it than me. But there's one thing I can tell you."

Riker prodded, "Go on."

"If he was dressed anything like you two, he was either mugged, kidnapped, or..."

"Vaporized," Q finished, making an explosion gesture with his hands. "Kapow."

The officers blanched. "Are you serious?" Riker exclaimed, staring at Q incredulously.

He shrugged. "It's a possibility, one you have to face when dealing with a place like this, Commander."

Riker frowned.

"I could always find out..." Q drawled.

"That would be helpful."

"Watch the lip, buddy, I'm still the one with the weaponry." Q twisted in his seat to yell across the bar. "Hey! Freddie! Get yer ass over here!"

"I'm busy!" the tender shouted back.

"Fuck that!" Q slammed his fists against the counter threateningly, causing the drinks to jump from the small quake. "Yer not if I say so!"

Riker looked askance at Shien. "Who taught him to talk that way?"

Shien glanced from Q to the commander, then beamed appreciatively at his lover. "He taught himself. He really learns quickly, you know. He's highly impressionable and clever too." The Aldreenian shot Riker a side look. "I think he's come far, considering he's only been human for three years."

Q smiled at them, oblivious to their conversation. "He'll be over in a moment."

Riker watched Q turn back around and sip from his alcoholic beverage calmly. He noted the weapons, the armor, the scars, the gruff mannerisms, the danger. The commander whispered to the councilor. "What do you think?"

Troi followed Riker's gaze, which was now resting on Shien. "If he's right," she murmured, "and Q was impressionable, there's no telling how far he could have come if he had stayed aboard the Enterprise. There's a great likelihood that he could have gotten his powers back by now."

Riker glanced to Shien, whose face was a mask. He continued to address the councilor. "And now?"

"Now?" Troi shook her head, looking at Q's back. "Now, I think he's gone backwards. The Continuum did not make him human for this reason. Q was a clean slate when this began. Now, there is a whole lot of erasing to do before we can build upon it."

Riker nodded, satisfied.

Shien held up his hands, as if to fend off invisible blows. "You have it all wrong--!"

"What is it this time, Abel?" the bartender was saying. "Yer not done with yer drink y--"

"I need ya t' do a favor for me, Freddie," Q interrupted. "Do y' have a list of all the people who died here in th' past two weeks?"

The tender laughed at him. "Yer kidding, right?"

Q's eyes narrowed. "Does it look like I'm kidding?"

Freddie shook his head. "Sorry, Abe, we don't keep lists, maybe if I had more information..."

Q sighed, but when he turned to Riker, he was not beaten yet. "Do ya have a holo of him, a milk carton picture, anything?"

The commander pulled out a miniature cube and dropped it into Q's outstretched hand.

Q examined it a moment, then slid off his stool, pushing a few patrons rudely. "Out of the way, move, watch it there..." Then, in one fluid motion, he stood on top of the bar counter.

The officers and the Aldreenian tilted their heads up at him in confusion. "What are you going to do?" the latter asked.

"Just watch and learn." Q smirked, then cupped his hands over his mouth, calling over the crowd to get their attention. "Hey! Over here!" He waved his arms around, making pantomimes. "Look at me!"

Few patrons glanced in his direction, but they turned away, instantly supposing he was drunk.

"Abel, get off my counter," the tender grumbled.

"Hey!" Q continued to yell. "Listen, you buncha filthy little--!"

A small knife flew across the room and embedded itself in the wall, less than two centimeters away from Q's helmet.

Q blinked at the knife, then sneered at who had thrown it. "Oh, very funny, Asangi."

On the opposite side of the bar, an attractive Bajoran woman in a tight-fitting dress waved.

Riker tore his eyes away from her legs and glanced at Q with a touch more respect. But he did not make it apparent. "Well?" he demanded. "This isn't helping Captain Picard."

"He's right, Abel," Shien added, beckoning his lover to come down. "We'll come up with something else."

Q placed his hands firmly on his hips, shaking his head at them. "Oh, ye of little faith." He held out a hand to the bartender. "A bottle of yer cheapest alcohol, my good man."

Riker frowned as the exchange was made and Q handed the tender his payment. "You're going to offer them free drinks?"

Q chuckled to himself, as if finding the commander's ignorance humorous. He held the bottle in one hand and withdrew a phaser with the other, altering the setting thoughtfully.

Shien groaned, and he and the tapster ducked under the bar counter.

Riker and Troi exchanged glances, and the commander noted that the woman across the bar had hidden herself under her table as well. They both pondered following their examples.

Q shook the contents of the bottle violently, examined it a moment, then hefted it into the air. Both officers watched warily as the bottle spun, flying through the air. Waiting for the right moment patiently, Q aimed his phaser, and when the bottle reached the spot he wanted, fired.

The beam hit the bottle expertly, and there was a loud shattering noise. The impact of the blast caused its glass exterior to glow bright orange and explode out of existence in a nanosecond. With now nothing to enclose its contents, the alcohol inside expanded and rained down on the patrons of the tavern, each of whom got in some way drenched depending on location.

The only beings unmarred by the alcohol were those who had hidden, and Q, who had stood in the 'eye' of the explosion.

The bar fell silent instantly, and the eyes of its occupants focused on Q, who was leisurely holstering his weapon. Riker and Troi, damp and sticky, stared at their smuggler comrade in shock. As towels were passed out and hair was wrung out, Q straightened up to address his audience, holding out the activated holocube.

"So," Q drawled affably over the silence, indicating the hologram. "How many of you scummy lowlifes have seen this man here two weeks ago? Hmm? Lemme see yer hands!"

Eyes narrowed, focusing in on the miniature picture of Captain Picard, dressed in his civilian clothes. There was a slight pause, then a sea of hands and appendages were raised into the air in reply.

Riker and Troi gaped at the faces and mob of hands, then locked eyes with Q.

Q raised a brow triumphantly, dusting his hands off expressively before tossing Riker the deactivated cube. "There's your answer, Billy Boy." He grinned widely, displaying his teeth as he climbed down from the counter to slap the commander on the back, causing Riker to stagger forward from the force. As he helped pull Shien to his feet, Q winked to the both of them, moving into the crowd. "You can thank me later."


	2. Chapter 2

**-Past-**

"What are you reading, Data?" Troi asked as she leaned over his shoulder to inspect the computer monitor. It only took her less than a second to understand. Barely restraining her laughter, she pointed to the screen. "Don't you think you're getting carried away with all this?"

Data swiveled in his chair, expressionless as always. "I do not perceive myself as being 'carried away,' Councilor. In fact, I have not left this seat in the past eleven minutes, twenty-eight seconds."

"I mean, Data, don't you think you're getting a little too involved? Come on. _Parenting_ books?"

He turned back to the console, raising his eyebrows. "I thought it wise to do some research on our current assignment. After all, you yourself described Q as being a teenager. And, from what I can gather through what I have learned so far, not an especially behaved one."

She sat on the counter and scanned the material along with him. "Yes, but Q is billions of years old."

"Age is not significant in one's development, I am informed. Is it not possible to be a human of ninety-eight and still be considered a child?"

Troi nodded.

"And," Data continued. "Q has only been human for eighteen days, if we exclude the brief moment in which he had his powers returned to him by "Ahriman." So to put it more accurately, Q is not even a teenager, but an infant in its developing stages. And from what I have read thus far, it is at_ this_ point that the infant is most susceptible to outside influences."

Troi was suddenly thankful that Q couldn't hear himself being called an infant.

"I have been attempting to develop a technique to teach and discipline him at the same time." Data frowned, shaking his head slightly. "But he does not seem to react well to this. I first tried the 'authoritarian' parenting style to impose rules and obedience."

Troi suppressed a groan. "Oh, no. You didn't."

Data nodded. "This method was not as...successful...as I had hoped. After this failed, I then took the 'permissive' approach, and somehow this had even less of a favorable outcome."

"He walked all over you?"

"To put it mildly, yes. When I relaxed my authority over him, he took this as an initiative from me to behave poorly." He paused, considering the events of the past week and a half he had studied Q. "Ironically, in both the 'authoritarian' and 'permissive' methods I used, Q reacted exactly the same."

"That's because, Data, Q is not an infant. He's a seven-billion-year-old human who's too stubborn to take orders from 'a mind-rapist and an automaton.'"

Data raised his brows again. "Q told you this?"

"More than once."

"Can you offer any advice? If Q does not respond well to discipline, and does not learn anything through lack thereof, how am I to teach him to develop into a proper human?"

Troi raised a brow and wondered what Data considered a "proper human" to be. "Just talk to him, Data. Don't try to analyze his behavior, believe me, he will not take kindly to it. And most of all, don't try to discipline him. Just try and be understanding." She paused, correcting herself. "But don't sound sympathetic, because he'll think you're patronizing him. And don't be casual, because then he'll think you're flippant. Just...be..._open_."

"Can you elaborate on what you mean by 'open'?"

Troi was struggling to come up with a response when the door chimed, cutting off her thoughts.

"Enter," Data said.

Riker poked his head out the door as it opened. "Aren't you two coming?"

"Isn't it still too early?" Troi said.

The other rolled in his lips, as if restraining a pent-up explosion of rage. "Q said that if he had to wait another five minutes, he would be forced to 'mingle.'"

Troi smiled. "We better go, then."

"When did the banquet end?" the android asked as they made their way out of his quarters and down a stretch of hallway.

"An hour ago." Riker said. Usually, these Federation symposiums, which required officers to wear dress uniforms he could not stand, were drudging and tedious. He would have much preferred to use the holodeck for simulating a kayaking run down one of Alaska's many rivers, not for entertaining alien representatives of races who were probably simultaneously plotting against them. But some inkling told him that this particular gathering would not progress as the rest. And he was positive he knew why. "The speeches should be starting any minute now."

As they came to the holodeck, the double airlock doors slid apart to allow them passage through, and into a well-lighted meeting hall. A stage was situated against the far side of the room, while rows of chairs lined the rest of the enclosure. An assemblage of well dressed individuals from many cultures Troi could not identify shuffled back and forth, seating themselves in the chairs or conversing amongst each other.

At the podium, she could see Captain Picard, dressed in his best uniform, ordering everyone to take their seats.

The emissaries found their chairs, and Riker led her and Data through the crowd of standing delegates, who kindly stepped aside to offer them passage through, and moved towards the podium. Troi spotted Q whispering something in the captain's ear. Picard only nodded stiffly and went off to greet more attendees and eventually take his own seat behind the podium.

As Data and Riker followed their captain's cue, Troi joined Q, who was standing off to the side, glowering.

"How has it been going?" she asked.

Q looked down at her and yawned.

"Are you nervous?"

"You're the empath. You tell me."

Troi shrugged. She _knew_ he wasn't nervous. He was comfortable with being the center of attention, and stage fright was hardly an ailment he had to worry over.

The hall fell silent as the first delegate slid up to the lectern to give his speech. Each representative had been instructed to give a briefing discussing their race's advances and claims in various fields of study. Each civilization had its own merits, in either medicine, science, space travel, or philosophy. As each individual approached the podium to give fifteen-minute, hair-brained lectures on subspace warp fields or some laughable theory of the universe that had been passed down over eons, Q would lean against the wall and find flaws with everything they said.

He would mumble under his breath, occasionally snort, and whisper snide remarks to Troi. More than once, she had to elbow him in the side to keep him from bursting into laugher. He'd whisper explanations about how the Sienarian belief in "folding space" and harmonic paradoxes was not applicable in the natural universe. And then he would go into a technical discussion explaining why. But under the sneer, she knew he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

Picard approached the lectern. "According to the schedule, we are to take a short recess for refreshments down in Ten-Forward and return to the lectures in another two hours." The attendees began to rise from their seats, but Picard held up a hand, stilling them. "However, before we do, I am pleased to inform everyone that we have a special guest with us tonight who has come a very long way, and has expressed his enthusiasm, in light of the proceedings, to share his brilliance with us. I believe we are all acquainted with Q, famed for his overwhelming expertise in all fields of study, emissary of the all-powerful Q Continuum."

Picard nodded towards the end of the hall, and the audience followed his gaze to the direction of Q, who stiffened. "If I am not mistaken," he continued, "he has a lecture to deliver to us immediately." He stepped aside and clapped his hands to coax the audience into a round of applause.

Picard withheld a guffaw at Q's stunned expression. Unfortunately, Q regained his composure and weaved his way back and forth like shark through the isles, and wound around and up the stage.

By the set of his jaw, Picard knew he was enraged. And if he hadn't known before that Q was a self-proclaimed pacifist, he would have expected a good throttling.

Once Q was in front of the podium, he favored Picard with a wide smile, baring all his teeth. Picard returned it. With the audience still applauding, Q patted the captain hard on the back as if they were old friends. As they grudgingly embraced, Q hissed through clenched teeth, "I'm going to get you for this, Picard."

The captain smiled thinly. "Break a leg."

* * *

Picard knew most of what Q was saying was what the French dubbed "rien que de la merde," but no one appeared to be able to tell the difference.

Though Picard did not consider himself to be a physicist, or specialist in the field Q was addressing, he did know a thing or two about the galaxy around him. Hell, he had charted countless systems in his time, and surmounted many obstacles other captains would have not been as well equipped to handle. But when Q went on about such topics as gamma, relativity, continuums, mirror realities, fifth dimensions, light cones, space-time paradoxes, light speed barriers, restricted space, and things he had never even heard of, Picard realized he was out of his league.

"Do you understand any of this, Mister La Forge?" he asked his chief engineer beside him.

The other did not respond. It was not the captain he was listening to.

Once Q received a standing ovation at the end of his blasted speech, he had had enough of this ordeal. He wanted to sit down, rest, and later provoke some co-workers to make up for the niceties of the day. But most of all, he wanted, naturally, to be nestled back within the warm comfort of the Continuum, omnipotent and immortal again, and forget this entire thing had happened.

Once the fools had finished clapping, they crowded around him en masse to congratulate him and ask feeble-minded questions whose answers they couldn't grasp. Q didn't care. Not about this conference, not about these pathetic creatures...nor this ship, for that matter. And though Q had always savored reveling in the praise of lesser beings, omnipotent or not, his ego was outmatched by the will of his body. And it wanted to shove past these slimy aliens, who were pulling at his clothing as if he was their savior, and return to his quarters and not resurface for at least another week.

But the delegates and curious onlookers pressed into him, shouting inquiries and unintelligible comments. They fenced him in. The noise, the questions, and the close proximity of all those people made Q panic.

But before he could open his mouth and shout venomous slurs at his eager audience, he became dimly aware of himself being grabbed by the wrist and being pulled out of the crowd by someone who no doubt thought they were being helpful. Q resented that.

"What'd you do _that_ for, woman?" Q hissed.

"You looked uncomfortable," Troi said, dragging him like a rolled-up carpet across the holodeck.

"Was not."

"Of course you weren't."

"Stop patronizing me! And where are you taking me?"

Troi had pulled him into the hall. "Ten-Forward."

"Are you _insane_?" Q exclaimed. Was the woman trying to kill him? "I thought you were on _my_ side!"

"Guinan won't hurt you, Q, I promise."

"It isn't her, it's those _people_." He took a furtive look over his shoulder. They were still following them.

Troi released his wrist, but before he could pull away, she was holding him by the hand, as if they were good friends just happening to take a stroll, with one of them going against his will. "You look tired, Q. Your speech was good, but you need to rest."

"I can do_ that _in my quarters."

"You need to spend some time out of your quarters, for once."

"Excuse me? Who's in control of whose life, here? I'll stay in my quarters for the remainder of my miserable existence if I feel the need."

"Fine, Q." Troi released his hand and looked him in the eye steadily. "You can go back to your quarters."

Q waited for the other shoe to drop.

"But you'll have to go through those delegates to get there."

Q glowered. "I don't like you." And he meant it.

She only smiled in that holier-than-thou manner of hers. They started up the hall again.

"You do realize you are traveling on dangerous ground here," he continued. "I could break you in a million ways if I had the inclination."

It was not quite a threat, but a warning. Troi knew better than to press it. Q had the potential to be viciously cruel, and though she considered herself capable of reasoning with him in most situations, he still had the ability to spur a Vulcan into a bloody rage.

"You may think you have me figured out, that I'm as predictable as every other Q and every other human you've studied in the past, that you can take advantage of me as you do everyone else. You may think you're my little guardian angel. But just like _that_—" He snapped his fingers in her face. "You'll find that you're the one needing help."

As expected, Ten-Forward was alive with people. Q hated it. It was dark, gloomy, noisy,

overcrowded. How could anyone hope to unwind in such a place? Not only that, but he hated Troi for dragging him here, and himself for going along with her.

And the chairs were dreadfully uncomfortable.

The councilor had wisely chosen a table secluded far from the others, next to the viewports.

"What'll you have to drink?" Troi said, indicating the waitress.

Q looked the woman up and down and scoffed. "How do I know none of your apothecaries are slipping me saltpeter?"

"Don't give her any ideas, Q," Guinan said from behind him.

Q set his teeth. Every muscle in his body tensed.

Guinan approached the table, her eyes never leaving Q. "I have to say, I didn't think we would ever meet again like this. I'd thought you were too scared to show your face back here."

Q leaned back. "Scared I only chose not to show myself among such common-place riffraff, in this _filthy_, unkempt little bar of yours. Frankly, the service here makes Dessica II look like Risa." Q ran a finger over the surface of the tabletop and inspected what he found, his face contorting in disgust. "Tsk, tsk."

Guinan continued staring at him.

Q shifted slightly, not wanting to reveal how uneasy he was. But, knowing Guinan, he was sure she had already sensed it. "Are you this rude to _all_ your customers?"

"I was just considering what a rotten human you make. Confined to your body, no where to go, alive only because what you know is useful to those taking care of you. Who said there was no justice in the universe?"

Q's eyes lowered. "The El-Aurians, perhaps?" Her facial expression hardened the slightest, and Q, pleased that he had finally hit a nerve, gleefully pressed on. "Ah, how high-and-mighty we are now! Not so tough without your eating utensils, now, are you?"

"Q," Troi snapped, "that's enough."

"Oh, you're always spoiling my fun, Councilor." Then he tilted his head slightly as he heard a voice shout his name from somewhere in the growing rally of people filing into Ten-Forward, followed by another. The dive was quickly filling with bodies, each laughing, drinking, talking, socializing.

"Mr. Q!" the voices called again.

Eager to get away from Guinan, Q readjusted his robes and turned to Troi with an artificial look of apology. "Excuse me, but I have my public to attend to." And, with a last elaborate gesture, he sailed into the awaiting crowd.

"Mr. Q!" an ambassador, with the usual obscure forehead wrinkles that identified him as anything _but _human, swept up to greet him. "Wonderful speech, truly captivating, truly spectacular. I've never seen anything quite like it. You had me in awe. A brilliant theory you have developed, sir."

"Oh," Q said, "it isn't a theory."

"No?" Another delegate lifted a dubious brow. "You have proof to back up your claims?"

"I wouldn't be the least surprised if each of you obtuse, petty mortals didn't even _understand _what claims I made in my speech this evening."

"Frankly," the first ambassador huffed defensively. "Your speech _was_ rather misleading. If we do not fully appreciate your claims, it's hardly _our_ fault. You should've been more concise."

The doors of Ten-Forward slid apart, and Picard entered, followed by Data and the Aldreenian ambassador, a white-skinned, handsome, regally garbed young man with a mane of flowing blond hair underneath his armor. The man called himself Shien, and sported two equally attractive guards alongside him.

"I'm looking forward to hearing the results of the Aldreenian studies of the asteroid cluster in the Ubrikkan system," Picard was saying. This species, the Aldreenians, had been a sort of pet interest of Picard's since the Academy. Not only were they peaceful, but they had never experienced wars or any serious social conflict in their entire history. Aldreenians also had a rich cultural heritage in architecture, fine arts, politics, and, according to the ambassador, technology as well.

"Yes," Shien said flatly.

The first thing Picard noted was his crew and the symposium delegates quietly horded together, urging each other along and yelling out a list of nouns, no doubt from a dictionary. And in the center of the small crowd was Q, who had his eyes covered with a hand, those full lips drawn in a grimace.

"What the devil?" he asked himself softly, and glanced to the ambassador to gauge his reaction.

Shien raised a questioning brow at Picard. "Are all your gatherings this...lively, captain?"

"I assure you, they're not." He glanced around as they approached the small assembly. Guinan was behind her bar, talking with Troi and occasionally shooting the crowd a glance to ensure that no one had overstepped his or her bounds.

Data frowned as he picked up snippets in dialog and pieced them together. "The delegates appear to have taken a shared interest in Q's lecture this evening."

"At least they've remained civil," Picard said blandly as they approached the chattering crowd. He had feared the representatives would be starting a brawl by now, not holding a civil debate over the meaning of Q's speech. And though hesitant to admit it, the captain was slightly curious to what the hidden design in Q's speech had been. And if he wanted to find out, now was apparently the time.

Geordi was next to present his thoughts on the issue. "Could it be a warp nacelle? Or a plasma conduit?"

"No," Q said.

"Perhaps what Q was referring to," Data added from beside the captain, "was a type of weather phenomena, much like a cyclone, which has been known to take the--"

"No."

A delegate sipped her drink coolly. "It has to be more basic, like an element or--"

Q started, having reached the end of his short fuse. "No!" he said, throwing his hands in the air in anguish. "No! And for the _last _time, _no_! You inept mortals will never figure it out even if you live a _thousand_ billion years!"

The delegates ignored him and continued to exchange ideas.

Picard glanced to Q, not feeling the least bit sympathetic, enjoying the exchange. "Poetry, perhaps?"

Q stared forward a moment, his face expressionless, then turned to the captain. "Emily Dickinson was insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, Picard. To think, I expected better of you."

For some reason, Picard felt a little ruffled by that side comment.

Q went on before the captain could respond. "Now, if all you buffoons would kindly step out of the way, I have better things to do with my time..." He started pushing through those around him, when a voice, from the back of the lounge, called out.

"A casaba?"

Everyone, even Q, turned toward ambassador Shien. Silently, the crowd waited for the "no," but when it was late in coming, they found Q staring directly at the Aldreenian with an expression of astonishment.

"Very good," Q said almost inaudibly. "A tangerine, to be precise."

Picard glanced to Q, who wasn't paying the slightest attention to him. "A tangerine?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc. I'm disappointed in you, my good fellow. You have been outdone by an Aldreenian." Q then spoke directly to Shien. "Perhaps I misjudged your race and your little planet all those years ago. Perhaps I wasted my time, studying and analyzing these Neanderthals, when I should have, in fact, stopped while I was ahead and stayed on Aldreen."

Shien smiled. "You flatter me."

Q grinned. "That _was _my intention."

The delegates' eyes clicked back and forth from Q to Shien, ignored.

Picard frowned, an alarm going off in the back of his mind. Was Q _flirting_ with the ambassador of Aldreen, the emissary of a race he had once called "pathetic little creatures"? Was something wrong with him, or was he only pleased that someone had understood his supposed brilliance?

The ambassador tilted up his helmet. "I'm Sal Shien. Would you care to join me for a drink?"

"Delighted." Q glanced to Picard, as if seeing him for the first time. "It sounds like he has you at a disadvantage, Jean-Luc." Winking, he followed Shien to the bar.

Q had suddenly lost his interest in him. Picard remembered that, spare that one moment with Riker, Q had always had a vested interest in him, treating him with higher regard than he did with the rest of the Enterprise crew. But now, Q had cast him away with a detached indifference to chase after someone else.

Picard guessed he should be relieved, but he wasn't.

Geordi followed Q's trail to the bar with his eyes, and shook his head. "What's up with _him_?"

"Perhaps Q has found a friend," Data said.

As Picard moved off to continue with the business of acting as host to the delegates, he could hear La Forge remark to the android, "About time."

* * *

Q leaned against the bar counter as Shien and his two guards ordered the drinks.

To his surprise, the Aldreenian seemed different, even if he _was_ a member of a race Q had considered, in his omnipotence, to be feeble, narcissistic cave dwellers who danced around in the nude and sang romantic hymns. Aldreenians were hardly intellectuals. They had not even discovered the secret of fire when he had last seen them, oh, ten thousand years ago. Since when had they decided to evolve?

Shien took a seat at the bar, and handed Q his glass of water. Q sat next to him and batted his drink back and forth on its coaster. "_Chien_. You know, that's 'dog' in French."

The ambassador shrugged. "Never heard of a dog, and what is French?"

"Old Earth language, one of many." Q sipped at his water. "And a dog is a four-legged animal that humans train to fetch newspapers and attack other humans."

Shien snorted. "Humans. Why would one entire _race_ need so many languages?" He looked up at Q. "No offence."

Q raised an eyebrow for a moment. He was beginning to like this Chien guy. He leaned against the bar, and coaxed the other to come closer with a finger. Once Shien was close enough, Q whispered in his ear. "I know humans better than they know themselves. And the things I could tell you...they would make your blood congeal like Laurelian _pudding_."

Shien smirked. "I've never seen anyone despise his own species with such vehemence as you."

Q sipped his water casually, and paused, trying to think. "I should've picked Aldreenian."

"You're flattering me again."

"Yes, I seem to..." Q trailed off, his eyes un-focusing a moment. He tried to concentrate, and found his mind had gone blank.

Q felt Shien's hand on his arm, steadying him as he swayed forward slightly. Then, as quickly as the vertigo had set in, it disappeared, and his mind cleared.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Q muttered distantly, blinking. "I just...felt like I was kicked in the side of the head."

"Dizzy?"

He nodded and rose from his stool. "I better go to sickbay."

Shien's hand, still resting on Q's arm, held him down steadily. "No, no. That's perfectly normal."

"Normal?" Q balked, but sat back down. "Do _all_ humanoids get randomly dizzy?"

"Of course." Shien lowered his voice, looking concerned. "No one ever told you?"

"No." That spell of wooziness had been a horrible, frightening feeling. He had nearly forgotten who he was for at least five seconds. And no one had ever informed him that humans went through this sort of thing. Shien had just saved him much trouble and possibly humiliation by letting him in on this important information.

Q felt a wave of bizarre sentimentality come over him. He felt like crying, and did not know why. And the fact that he didn't know why just made it worse. Q covered his face with a hand, holding back a sob of gratitude. "How can I ever _thank_ you?"

The ambassador moved closer, and ran a hand over Q's back. "It's all right, Q," he soothed. "Everything's going to be all right."

Instead of flinching away, the Aldreenian's touch somehow elevated him, and Q felt his body responding, relaxing. He sighed.

"No one understands you, do they?" Shien continued softly as he stroked Q's back.

"No, they don't." Q glared bitterly at his glass. "No one understands me at all."

"And you resent them because of that?"

He nodded slowly. Q hated them all, really. The Continuum, who had abandoned him. Picard, Riker, Troi. Everyone. Everyone blamed him for crimes he had never committed. It wasn't his fault. He never deserved this treatment. He did not know where he had gone wrong, but he knew it was not _his_ fault. It was never his fault! He had never hurt anyone, and yet he was _still_ to blame! "It isn't fair," Q grumbled. "Nothing is fair here."

"You feel you can never fit in with the others, no matter how hard you try. You don't belong, yes? You're always misunderstood."

Q gnashed his teeth.

"And it's very hard, and very lonely for you, isn't it?"

Lost in his anger, all that was left was a dark feeling of isolation, of abandonment. The loneliness had been the worst, the source of all his problems. In being immortal, loneliness and boredom had often times been all he had felt. And now, nothing was different. He missed the Continuum, even if they would rather see him dead. They had been the closest he had ever gotten to family. He even had a soft spot for that dolt Picard and his dimwitted crew.

These were his friends now. This was it. This was as good as it could possibly get. Q bit his lip, the urge to cry overwhelming him. He was going to cry, and cry as everyone in the entire lounge watched and laughed. Strangely, he didn't care.

Shien's arm moved from Q's back, and fell to wrap around his waist instead. Q immediately stiffened, and a panic took hold of him.

"This is confusing for you, isn't it?" The arm drew Q closer to him.

Q was actually too confused to protest, and only nodded. He felt safe with this Aldreenian, safe from...

"Nice speech," a voice said. "Who did you steal all your material from?"

Both of them turned toward the woman standing to Q's left. He recognized the voice, and knew perfectly well who it was. He had expected it eventually.

Ensign Valencia looked to Shien, who still had his arm around Q's waist. "Are you this friendly with all the other representatives?" she asked the ambassador. "Or is this just part of your charm?"

Shien ignored her.

"So," Q said. "Where's Mister Right, your brutish fiancée?"

"We broke up. It's none of your business."

"Broke up? But why?" His voice immediately turned spiteful. "It seems you don't need me to get rid of the competition after all."

Valencia's lifted her hand as if to whack him across the face. But before she could leave Q reeling across the bar, one of Shien's guards caught her wrist.

She thrashed around. "Let go, you son of a bitch!"

Worf and his lackeys were immediately to the rescue. Shien's guards released the woman. Valencia rubbed her wrist as Worf ran off a series of gruff questions.

"This lady," Shien said, toying with the folds of Q's robes, "was about to slap Q."

"Is this true?" Worf asked the ensign.

"He started it," Valencia bit out. "He murdered my boyfriend!"

Worf turned to Q, who he was sure had some wry, triumphant comment prepared. But instead, Q did not even appear to be paying attention. His eyes were dilated, and he was smiling dreamily as if lost in his own little world. The Klingon puzzled over that. Synthohol should not have left the human out of control. Q did not even seem to notice that the Aldreenian ambassador was obviously coming on to him.

"I'd hate to think that all Starfleet officers are this disorderly, Lieutenant Worf," Shien continued. "Not a good first impression to put on a potential Federation ally, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course not," Worf said, still frowning at Q. "Carry on." The Klingon grunted and made a gesture to his officers to take the offending woman along with them to be properly reprimanded.

Shien watched them leave, and then smiled at Q. "Is everyone this friendly to you?"

Q preened. "It's all in the charm."

Troi, who had been watching this entire exchange from the opposite end of the bar, had seen and sensed enough. She was unsure what Shien's motives were, but she could feel a hidden danger. Q had been feeling a jumble of emotions in the course of less than ten minutes, most of which the councilor had never sensed strongly from him before. Now, all she could feel from Q was genuine elation.

"I thought you were afraid of being poisoned," she said as sidled up next to Q.

Q gazed as his glass, smiling at it in adoration. "Hmm."

Troi turned her attention to the Aldreenian instead. "Ambassador, if I may ask, are Aldreenians telepathic?"

Shien straightened. "Are you a Betazoid?"

"I'm only empathic. I was only wondering why I couldn't read anything from you. I thought perhaps it could have something to do with your helmet."

"Ah." Shien tapped his headgear thoughtfully. "Yes, it's the helmet. Provides a sort of...telepathic shielding. Blocks telepathic...probes. I'm unfamiliar with the workings of it myself."

Troi narrowed her eyes. She didn't need her empathic abilities to detect the lie. What bothered her more was why Shien wouldn't come out and admit the truth. Surely it wouldn't make any difference. "I didn't know Aldreenians had that kind of technology."

"We've been in seclusion for centuries," the ambassador said quickly. Then his tone lowered. "Now, if you'll excuse us..."

Troi didn't want to leave Q with the Aldreenian. She had spent many days trying to brave the depths of Q's psyche in an attempt to reform him. The one thing she was sure of was that when it came to understanding his own body and his emotions, the former entity was as naïve as a newborn. And he was apparently taken with the ambassador, who she felt could not be trusted. She considered voicing her suspicions to him, warn him of the dangers he might be facing, but thought better of it. "Of course," she said as she slid from her stool. "Enjoy the party."

Q rewarded her with a lopsided smile. As she left, Troi hoped he would control himself before the symposium resumed. She had a feeling that when Q did, he would be heartily embarrassed.

* * *

Q did not remember having ever been in such a good mood since he had his powers. But at the moment, he was not thinking of his powers. Everything felt pleasing to him, and he did not and could not care why. Q was sure someone had drugged him, either Guinan or that malicious Valencia woman, but at that present time, he was not thinking about anything like free will.

His fogged up, drunken mind was thinking only about enjoying this while it lasted. Everyone made him happy, especially Shien, who was the source of most of this pleasure he was feeling. He wanted to share his good nature with everyone.

Shien's hand moved from around Q's waist and settled over his right thigh. "Alone at last."

Q stared at the ambassador dreamily. He was so kind, so friendly. Anyone else would have taken advantage of him in his current state. But not Shien. Shien was like some sort of benevolent, blond-haired god who had come to rescue him from the hells of mortality.

Shien had not only saved him from ensign Reiser, but he had driven that pest Troi away as well. Q wanted to worship him, hug him, do something to show his boundless gratitude.

But all his body managed to do was grin in a stupor and sip his water.

If Shien was at all concerned or surprised by Q's trance at that moment, he did not show it. He only smiled and rubbed Q's leg through his clothes.

Q looked in bewilderment from the hand on his thigh, and then to its owner. He could feel his pulse quickening, his heart racing faster and faster, almost catching in his throat, it felt. He, as usual, did not understand this new sensation, like tingling electricity that was slowly seeping through his nervous system. It was thrilling, frightening, and oddly pleasing. Shien's hand was firm, strong, exhilarating...and that part of him he hated wanted more of it.

The ambassador's forehead creased a moment, and he glanced to his guards for an instant. He pulled a miniature tricorder from somewhere on his person. Using his own body as a barrier from prying eyes, he scanned Q and then studied the readings displayed on the device. "Q," he whispered softly, tightening his grip on the other's thigh. "Exactly how long have you been human?"

Q stared at his glass in concentration, mentally attempting to fan the fog away from his brain. "I don't...two years? No, it only _felt_ like two years. Uh...two weeks? Yes, that's it. Two weeks."

The tricorder disappeared. "Do you have any experience with artificial stimulants?"

Other than the tranquilizers he took to fall asleep, he had never experienced anything in the way of drugs. "Nah," Q said playfully. "You forget, I've not experienced a _lot_ of things before." Somehow, he was finding all this thoroughly amusing.

Shien made a face and patted Q's leg apologetically. "I'm sorry about all this. I think I slipped you more than necessary."

"_You_ drugged me?" Q grinned. "Oh, you _dog_." What a nice man. Now he knew who to thank for his giddiness.

The Aldreenian put a finger to his lips and smiled. "Do you think you can be good and try not to make a big scene?"

Q lifted his nose in the air. "I'm the leading authority on self-restraint. But what do _I_ get out of it?"

In reply, Shien's hand slid into the inside of Q's thigh, caressing the sensitive skin. "Anything you want. But we have to go somewhere more _private_."

Q jolted from the sensation of the fingertips trailing along the responsive skin under his robes. He could feel his breath speeding up again, his mind floating. Q stared at Shien, eyes wide in astonished awe. Whatever the ambassador was doing to him, it was amazing.

"Do you agree?" Shien went on, leaning forward until he was invading the other's personal space.

Q drew back slightly. "With what?"

"About leaving this starship, where no one cares about you, and coming with me."

Q's mind was swimming. The way Shien had said that, so sincerely, not only confused him, but elated him as well. "I..." He swallowed as the other's hand sent a shiver down his spine, and a tingling sensation across the rest of his body. "I have to think about it."

Shien's hand slid up farther, and Q closed his eyes against it, feeling his body tense and relax.

"You like that?" the ambassador whispered.

"No," he lied, biting his lip.

The hand moved higher. "You want more of it?"

"Uhg. Yes." Q saw duel images, swayed a moment, then steadied himself. In the back of his mind, he was panicking, but his body was willing him to submit. He should have known this would happen. And at that moment, he was not ashamed of it.

And he wanted more.

Shien smiled, his free hand covering one of Q's. "Then let's go."

Across Ten-Forward, amidst the dense crowd of ambassadors, aliens, and officers, Geordi restrained a laugh and pulled on one of Data's sleeves to get his attention.

The android turned. "Yes, Geordi?"

The chief engineer pointed discreetly to the bar with amusement. "Am I the only one who's noticed the change in Q's body temperature and that his heart rate's through the roof?"

This observation not only brought the attention of Data, but also that of Troi, Doctor Crusher, O'Brien, and even Picard. They followed Geordi's gaze, and raised their eyebrows at what they saw.

Picard took one look at what was causing Q's elevated response, feigned disinterest, and returned to socializing.

Data frowned. "The ambassador is being quite overt in his intentions, and Q appears unusually at ease."

"Someone should tell them to break it up or something," Geordi said. "Or get a room."

"Oh, leave him alone," Crusher said, not hiding her own enjoyment at seeing Q make a complete ass of himself. "He's a grown man. More or less."

As the others shrugged it off, Troi and Data were more troubled. Q was wide-eyed in a mixture of surprise and pleasure. And he was taking pleasure in an act he had once called base and paltry.

"Can I offer anyone anything to drink?" Picard asked those around him, the perfect host.

"You can order me a Calaman sherry, Captain."

Another handed him an empty glass. "I want this refilled with Maraltian Seev-ale, but tell them to go easy on that green substance this time."

"How about one of those martinis you humans speak so fondly of?"

Picard swallowed his pride, nodded curtly, and moved to the bar to make his orders. He stood stiffly in front of the counter as he waited.

"Why always so stolid, Jean-Luc?" Q asked from beside him. "You'd be so much more interesting if you were less restrained."

Picard did not go for the bait, did not even glance at Q, and only focused his attention on the waitress, who he mentally urged to make the drinks faster.

Q took the other's silence in stride, and the captain noted, in horror, that he was appraising his uniform up and down with his eyes. "My, my. You really _do_ know how to make a dress look good, Jean-Luc."

Picard felt his face flush in a combination of anger and embarrassment. Thankfully, only Shien seemed to hear the comment. But the ambassador was staring at Q as if he was a roast.

Picard took in Q's pixilated grin and snorted. "You're drunk."

"I am _not_!"

The captain snatched the glass Q was holding and inspected it for an instant, then looked at him in confusion. "This is water."

"How observant you are!" Q retrieved his glass. "Yes, it's water, a molecular compound. Two atoms of hydrogen, one atom of oxygen. Essential for life as we mortals know it."

The waitress returned and handed Picard his orders before he could respond, and Shien tapped Q's shoulder, speaking some kind of language with his eyes.

"Jean-Luc," Q said, "we have to go."

"What? Go where?"

Q was about to tell him when Shien put his hand on his shoulder and spoke for him. "We're going to have sex, Captain."

Picard nearly choked, and Q appeared equally as surprised. The boldness left him stunned for a moment, and he glanced from the ambassador to Q, and back to Shien again. Picard did not want to get involved in this.

"We'll be back before the symposium finishes, of course," Shien added.

The captain made a gesture he hoped they would both understand meant that they had permission to do whatever they wanted—God, he didn't want to think more about this—and moved to return to the party.

"Oh, you've just made my day, Jean-Luc!" Q blew him a kiss and followed into the crowd without another word.

Picard tried to put that out of his mind. He was not going to think about it. The captain returned to the party and passed out the drinks to their designated owners, and everything returned to normal.

The doors of Ten-Forward parted again, and Riker entered, looking slightly befuddled as he glanced over his shoulder, into the hallway, shook his head, and found Councilor Troi.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Troi said.

Riker wrinkled his nose. "Q flirted with me."

"He did _what_?"

"He said my beard _brought out my eyes_." He repressed a shudder. "Why hasn't he been dragged off to sickbay for an examination?"

Troi wasn't listening. "Was he alone?"

"There was some man with him. Why?"

She did not reply, and pushed through the crowd, with Riker trailing behind, until she reached Picard.

"Captain," she said. "Where did Q and the ambassador go?"

Picard pressed his lips together, not wanting to have this discussion. He looked away from Troi and was relieved when she figured it out herself.

"Sir, why'd you let him leave? He's—"

"Q's not a child, Councilor. And he's not a prisoner here. He can do whatever he wishes. Why? Are you sensing something amiss?"

Troi shook her head. "I'm not entirely sure, but I feel like the ambassador might not be who he claims."

"That's impossible," said Riker. "I reviewed everyone's credentials myself. They were all impeccable."

But both he and the captain knew better than to question her judgment.

The captain gave her a hard look. "Do you believe Q's in danger?"

"I believe so."

"We should alert Lieutenant Worf," Riker said.

Troi had a feeling it was already too late.

And as if to prove her right, the lights overhead winked off, and the entire ship went dead in space.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: Drugs, torture, violence, rape.

**-Past-**

As luck would have it, Councilor Troi had been right all along.

How fitting.

Nevertheless, the nature of such luck remained to be debated.

Picard himself was too damned busy at the moment to even consider the bruise that one of the diplomats had left on the side of his face, much less the prospects of good and bad fortune.

As for the bruise, it was hardly the only one he sported. The captain had found out the hard way that the delegates could become quite feverish when they were locked in a pitch-black room like that of Ten-Forward, along with two hundred other humanoids equally as panicked, for five long minutes without any means of escape.

And panicked was hardly the word for it. When the lights of Ten-Forward had winked out, along with every other light and device across the entire ship, and the Enterprise's warp drive had ceased to operate; all hell, inevitably, broke loose. All power, spare enough for life-support, had been somehow drained from the Enterprise, leaving the ship stranded and defenseless in the uninhabited void that was the Lyra system.

It was during these five minutes of utter helplessness that terror ensued. Some were trapped in turbolifts, confined in holodecks, locked in their quarters, or stranded in other compromising positions.

Picard had the luxury of being jammed between a mass of bodies, with the stars as the illumination, as people shouted, jabbed, kicked, pushed, and groped in the dark.

Only when the secondary systems had decided to kick in, and power was returned to the drained, defenseless and chaotic Federation vessel did sanity return.

After such an ordeal, it did not surprise the captain when the alien representatives had requested to return to their flagships and take a prolonged "recess."

What_ did_ surprise Picard, however, was the fact that the flagship that had escorted the Aldreenian ambassador Shien to the symposium happened to be missing. Along with the ambassador himself.

Coincidence?

No such thing.

As the delegates evacuated the Enterprise as if it were the sinking Titanic of ancient Earth, with security personnel running around under the guidance of Lieutenant Worf, Picard and his senior officers bounced ideas off the walls of the observation lounge.

Geordi informed them that the 'blackout' the Enterprise had just endured was an act of sabotage. Someone had apparently tampered with the ship's computer systems, causing all sensors, shields, weapons, navigational controls, communications, and propulsion to be put on temporary hold.

"Only transporter room three remained unaffected," Geordi said. "Along with Sickbay and the brig."

"At least the terrorist was thoughtful," Riker mumbled.

The _Enterprise_ had regained its operations, spare sensors and communications, which remained stalled while La Forge's crew fought to correct the problem.

As for the cause of the blackout, Picard was sure that this was not the act of an infuriated alien delegate who had felt the need to bring a peaceful scientific symposium to an early end. It was hard to believe that the only person without an alibi also happened to have fled the ship through the transporters with the Federation's brand-new prize under his arm.

Q.

"Is it possible that Ambassador Shien could be responsible for the disturbance?" Picard asked.

Geordi scoffed. "There's no way, Captain. Even if Shien _did_ have the access, he just doesn't have the understanding of how this ship is put together. You'd have to be familiar with the

_Enterprise _inside out, know every detailed nuance...and _I_ was in Ten-Forward when that blackout hit. He'd have to know not only the ship's networking, but the exact string of commands to enter to overload the ship's command systems…" He trailed off suddenly.

The crew stared at one another for a long moment in silence.

"_Merde_," Picard whispered.

* * *

While Picard and his underlings juggled regaining control over the _Enterprise_, dealing with uptight dignitaries, and relocating one missing human being, the human being in question had no complaints himself. As far as _he_ was concerned, this was the highlight of his entire existence.

Everything was amusing.

Of course, in his current condition, Q would have found death itself amusing.

Disoriented from transport, as well as from ingesting more than the recommended dose of an unknown stimulant, Q nearly toppled over in dizziness, aloft only thanks to Shien's quick reflexes.

The ambassador slung an arm around Q's waist while he swayed.

"You're too kind," Q said, steadying himself, his wide eyes taking in his surroundings like a sponge. They were on the navigation bridge of the vessel, which was a dark and filthy sty littered with trash and empty crates. Carbon scoring seared the doors and the computer consoles were dented and cracked. Weapons of various shapes and sizes aligned the walls. Disrupters, phasers, pistols, rifles, sonic grenades, stun batons, knives, miniature cannons, swords...the ambassador must have been a collector.

Shien patted Q lightly on the back and quickly hurried into the center of the bridge, his lackeys trailing behind him. The guards took their places at the navigation controls, an odd place for mere bodyguards, Q thought.

As Shien sat in the ripped and multi-stained chair designated for the captain, he barked orders. "Helm, pull up the cloak and bring us to the specified bearing."

"Whatever," one of the guards grumbled.

Another Aldreenian dressed in similar body armor, who Q had not noticed before, twisted from his place at the tactical station to scoff at the ambassador. "Dammit, Sal, you sure took your sweet time, didn't you?"

"Shove it," Shien said. "We have to get out of here before those Federation saps figure out what just happened and try and smoke us."

"_Smoke us_?" Q repeated with a raised eyebrow. How interesting.

No one there paid any attention to him.

"Fine, fine," the Aldreenian at tactical mumbled, working his console. The ship immediately wheezed to life, and was propelled forward as its thrusters kicked in. Empty crates and debris slid off to the far end of the bridge, and Q almost tumbled after them, but was caught by the man. As the vessel steadied, the tactical officer leaned against his console glared at Shien. "There. Cloaking shield engaged. We'll be at our rendezvous before you know it. _Now_ can we talk?"

Shien refused, and he and the other Aldreenian, who he referred to sarcastically as "doctor," began to argue back and forth vehemently. The two guards at helm listened in with little interest.

Q smiled, not at all disturbed the crudeness of his new friends. He collapsed easily into a reclining chair, propping his feet on a nearby crate and supporting his head with interlaced fingers. Q gazed up at the soiled ceiling. As they yelled, he called out, "You don't mind if I make myself at home, do you?"

The argument came to a halt and the four Aldreenians whirled to stare at him.

The doctor looked Q up and down, clearly unimpressed. "_This _is the guy?"

"I may have," Shien said, "Uh...given him a tad too much."

"How much are we talking about here?"

A half-empty baggie filled with a salt-like substance appeared in the ambassador's hands. He inspected it a moment. "Four grams?"

"Four grams! Four grams, the man says! You gave him our grams of seventy-five percent pure Yalotta spice! What the hell do you think he is? A goddamn Horta?"

Shien appeared wounded for a split second, then narrowed his eyes. "Oh, so you think you could've done better?"

"You bet I could've. At least I wouldn't have wasted two hours of our time trying to woe a human with drugs!"

"Oh, and you have a better idea, huh? You'd prefer that I shoot my way onboard a Federation starship? Yeah, that's real smart, _doctor_." Shien turned to Q with mock appreciation. "The guy even helped with our escape. I have to thank you for that."

Q waved him away. "The pleasure was all mine."

"Do you even have any idea that you've just been _kidnapped_?" Shien said.

"Actually," Q said, raising a correcting finger. "You haven't kidnapped me. I went along quite willingly."

The doctor laughed loudly as Shien's face darkened to a color of bright red, and Q, having lost his good sense, joined him in a shared chuckle.

Shien hurled his bag of drugs across the bridge. It hit the viewscreen and flopped to the already littered floor.

"That's it!" Shien fumed. "That's the last time I use this freaking spice crap! _Every_ time I try to kidnap someone, they end up thinking I'm doing them a favor instead!" He stamped around, kicking crates across the room as the doctor smirked and operated his station.

"So," Q drawled, steepling his hands. "Am I going to be a member of your fine crew?"

"_No_!" Shien snapped, his voice close to a wail.

The former entity mock-pouted, never loosing his lopsided grin. "Why not?"

Shien massaged his temples for a moment, reminding the former entity somewhat of Captain Picard. His voice became staccato, as if speaking to an underdeveloped youngster. "You prisoner." He pointed to Q sharply, then to himself. "Me own you. Understand?"

"You're trying to talk sense into a marshmallow, Shien," the doctor said.

Shien ignored him, and kept his blue eyes narrowed on his bounty. "Well? Understand?"

Q saluted. "Perfectly."

"And for god's sake," Shien grumbled. "Stop being so damn polite!"

Q looked to the doctor helplessly, making elaborate gestures. "What am I doing _wrong? _Someone tell me when I am and when I'm _not_ supposed to be polite!"

"Shh." the doctor said. "Calm down, fellah."

Q turned away and stifled a choked sob. "I _am_ calm!" He hid his face in his hands and sniffled.

The other pointed to Q and glared at the ambassador. "Look at what you've done! You've fucked him up!"

Shien's face held a nearly regretful expression. "It's only the spice talking."

"Raruel isn't going to want him now, you moron."

"There are always the Tätarians," Shien said. "They don't care if he's cracked up or not, just as long as he's whole."

The doctor shook his head in disbelief. "You're a bastard, Shien."

"I didn't say I was proud of it, something has to make up for this. But I can't stand watching a grown man cry." Shien sighed, crossed the bridge, and returned with his baggie. "I'm going to give him more of it."

"Are you nuts? You want him bouncing off the walls?"

Shien tossed the bag away. "Maybe you're right. Doc, go down to engineering, I think there's a warp-core breach or something down there."

"I'm not reading anything on the sensors—"

"Just _go_!" Shien snapped.

The doctor shot him a sidelong glance, but grumbled and stalked off the bridge.

Shien bent down to one knee and held Q firmly by the shoulders. "Q, look at me."

Q stared up at him blankly.

He softened his tone, pulling the other closer to him. Q did not resist. "Do you think you can cheer up, for me?"

Q swayed a moment from under Shien's touch, and gaped at him. "You're...not an ambassador...are you?" He was pleased with himself for finding enough wit to make such a perceptive observation.

Shien shook his head, pressing the other against him to take advantage of Q's obvious susceptibility to physical contact. He embraced him until they were nearly hugging, and gently stroked Q's sides and sensitive back through his robes until the former entity shuddered and moaned low in his throat.

The ambassador felt Q a moment longer, and whispered in his ear. "Do you think you can be good now?"

"I'm not going to have sex with you." Q rested his chin on Shien's shoulder and closed his eyes at the not-ambassador's warm touch. Shien smelled like sweat and coolant. Q felt the sadness and despair leaving his fogged mind to be replaced with a maddening physical desire. His body wanted something. Something he did not yet understand.

Shien stood, pulling away, the rueful expression creasing his face again.

The doctor burst back onto the bridge. "You're full of shit, Shien. Absolute shit. There's nothing wrong down in engineering." The Aldreenian stopped himself, noticing Q reclined in his chair, his hands steepled, the perfect picture of calm. The doctor stared at Shien suspiciously, who shifted under his gaze. "I cannot believe you made me leave the bridge just so you could load him up again."

Shien scratched his neck and glanced at the doctor. "How much longer is he going to be like this?"

"How the hell should I know?" the doctor said tightly. "Do I look like a human to you?"

Q missed the sarcasm and hmphed. "You're better off."

The other shrugged it off and returned to his station. It was a long time, passing in a cold silence, before he spoke again. "Well, it'll comfort you to know that we'll be getting rid of him soon and picking up that hefty reward for our troubles. We've just reached the rendezvous point."

Shien sat in his captain's chair, assuming the air of authority again. "Helm, bring us out of warp."

The guard at the helm swiveled in his chair to raise a questioning eyebrow at his captain. "Are you showing off for the human?"

"Shut up. I don't pay you for the wise-cracks." He averted his eyes to the side to see if Q was rightfully impressed, and was rewarded by a sultry grin from the former entity.

The guards maneuvered the helm, and the vessel reentered real space as the cloak was lowered.

"There's a ship hailing us," the doctor said. "It's Raruel."

Shien rolled his eyes. "Well, who else would it be? Put him onscreen."

The doctor mumbled under his breath and the image of another Aldreenian male appeared on the grimy viewscreen. Q vaguely observed in that this particular Aldreenian was more aristocratic than the others. His features were more chiseled, more pronounced and attractive. This was a _real_ Aldreenian.

"Ah, Raruel," Shien drawled. "You look well."

"Sal Shien. Do you have him?"

"See for yourself." Shien made a beckoning gesture with a forefinger and Q started from his seat to lean alluringly against the back of the captain's chair, smirking up into the viewscreen.

Q lowered his eyelids and made a regal bow, stumbling slightly. "I am Q, humbly at your service."

Raruel stared at him in shock.

Shien laughed hesitantly. "Uh, Q is not exactly himself at the moment."

"Shien fucked him up," the doctor blurted.

Shien reddened in embarrassment, and his palms came together as if to pray, appealing to Raruel. "He had a misunderstanding with some Yalotta spice."

"Yeah." The doctor snorted. "Shien misunderstood the difference between two grams and four grams."

Q clapped enthusiastically, enjoying the exchange. These people were so much more entertaining than Picard and his boring Federation crew.

Raruel set his jaw. Apparently Raruel had never tried any of this lovely Yalotta spice his friends boasted. "You administered Yalotta spice to a human?"

"You have to understand, boss-man," Shien said. "You wanted us to kidnap him from a well-secured Federation flagship during a symposium. There were security teams everywhere. I had to do tons of research on this guy and infiltrate their defenses incognito."

The doctor opened his mouth, but Q cut him off excitedly. "I did all the work, though. _I_ rerouted the Enterprise's power supply and beamed us off the ship."

"_I _had to shoot five Starfleet officers!" Shien exclaimed.

Raruel blanched and his expression grew stricken.

The doctor said, "I hate to interrupt, but another ship in our vicinity just came out of warp. They're hailing us."

Shien let out a sigh of relief. "Put the barbarians onscreen."

Raruel straightened. "Shien, what is the meaning of this?"

"I double-crossed you, Raruel."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't act so surprised, friend." He tapped his helmet. "I'm sure you already knew."

"That is not how it works--"

Shien made a signal, and the transmission was cut off. "Let him soak in that for a while."

Q grinned and rubbed the palms of his hands together. "So who's the other bargaining party?"

In response, the image of a beast-like creature, with fur all over its immense body, appeared on the screen. It smiled in greeting, displaying rows upon rows of sharp, fanged teeth. It hissed at them in nearly unintelligible speech. "I am Sabin of the _Lusiatia_. You are the mercenary known as Sal Shien?"

That voice, that horrid, vile voice. The sound of it grated against Q's senses, and for a short moment, his mind cleared completely, and he was able to think with perfect clarity. And for that brief moment, he was utterly and hopelessly terrified. His face turned stark white, and his body wound up like a coil with tension. His heart pounded viciously in his chest, and he felt an uncomfortable burning, stinging sensation in his stomach and through his limbs. Q ceased to breathe. He only stared forward with his eyes glued wide in shock at the image of that monster of a creature.

Before Shien could respond, the Tätarian turned its attention directly

to him, who was slowly shielding himself behind the chair, never tearing his eyes from the screen. "Ah. And this must be Q." Its speech moved off into a hideous language Q's obtuse human brain was barely able to understand. _I have your ugly human face carved into my mind._

"Q?" He could feel Shien's hand tightening on his arm, much as it had done in Ten-Forward.

Q did not respond, and only began to tremble uncontrollably, unaware of how the four Aldreenians were frowning at him.

_I see you are frightened,_ the Tätarian continued. _You have good reason to be._

Shien glared at the screen. "Hey, buddy, talk in a language we can all understand, or the deal's off." At the other's affirmation, he glanced at the tactical station. "Doc, do you mind?"

The doctor nodded stiffly, produced a vial from his uniform, and inserted it into a hypospray. He then released its contents into the Q's neck with a soothing hiss.

Q felt his body relax, and welcomed the way his mind fogged over again. He did not want to remember. Not now, not ever. He did not want to remember his mortality, his feebleness, his vulnerability, and most of all, he did not want to remember the planet Tätanna. The doctor guided him into a chair, and he obeyed, collapsing in it with a sudden lack of energy.

Assured, Shien addressed the Tätarian again. "I believe you have a business proposition for us."

The evil-loving creature named a number.

Shien's brows raised, but his expression leveled off before the other could pick up on his intrigue. "I'll have to consider it with my crew."

"Raruel is attempting to reinitiate contact with us, sir," one of the guards noted, loud enough for the Tätarian to overhear.

Shien stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Put him on."

The screen shifted, and a slightly exasperated Raruel filled half the screen. The Tätarian on the other end growled low in its throat at Q, who had regained his pixilated grin and was gazing dreamily into nothingness again.

"Shien," Raruel said flatly, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the Tätarian. Though not directly related in species, Aldreen and Tätanna occupied the same solar system, throwing the two distinctly separate cultures into a continual cold war, where each tried to out-do the other. To see one of those barbarians doing business with his own kind was especially offensive. "I demand a clear explanation!"

"I think it's rather obvious."

The Tätarian spoke up, glaring harshly at the aristocratic Aldreenian with clear dislike. "You are not the only one who finds the one known as Q to be useful."

Raruel continued, speaking directly to the ambassador. "The council will not look upon this lightly, Shien."

"We're free of the council, Raruel," Shien snapped. "You have no power over us."

"You are traitors," Raruel announced more forcibly, glancing over his shoulder, then back at the ambassador. "You have cheated us."

Shien straightened in his chair. "Do I have to redefine the word 'mercenary' for you people? Cheating and double-crossing is all in the job description!"

Despite the fact that he was about to be auctioned off like an unwanted piece of used furniture to the highest bidder, Q could not help but partake in the repartee. Something about being wanted, by anyone, mollified his ego after the beating it had taken on the _Enterprise_. He smirked at Raruel. "He's got you there."

Shien smiled at Q, then raised an eyebrow at both the Tätarian and Raruel. "Well? Who wants him more? Mister Sabin here has made a considerable bid already. Are you willing to match it, Raruel?"

"I'll match whatever he can offer," the Aldreenian murmured almost nervously.

"So you have one billion f'rook on hand, just lying around in that huge yacht of yours?" Shien taunted.

Raruel appeared to have almost swallowed his tongue. "What?"

"One billion f'rook. I may give him up for one billion and a half, though."

"I'll have to talk to the council."

Shien held up a hand. "I don't have time. Pay up now or I'll take Mister Sabin up on his generous offer."

Raruel worked his mouth. "This is unfair! You never mentioned other bidders. By all fair rights, he belongs to us!"

The Tätarian's stalagmite teeth shone in a wide-mouthed, nefarious grin. "You may have a _piece _of him, once we have the pleasure of mincing him into little bone fragments."

Raruel's face turned green, and Q giggled. "Ah! A page from King Solomon's book! I like these Tätarians more already!"

"Uhm." Shien leaned over to the former entity grimly and spoke in a hushed tone. "Q, he did not mean that as a literary allusion. He's serious."

Q's nose wrinkled, and he swallowed. He lowered his voice to mock-somberness and pointed to Raruel. "And what does _he_ want to do with me?"

Raruel and Shien appeared to exchange glances for a moment before the latter shrugged. "I don't know. Breeder?"

"The joke's on them," Q said. "I can't reproduce."

The doctor generated a tricorder from his deep pockets and ran it over Q while Shien continued to haggle with his bidders.

Q watched him attentively, entranced by the shinny, humming object the physician was operating.

The doctor finished his scan and frowned. "You know," he whispered. "I'm beginning to think you're as full of shit as Sal."

Q sat up, hands on his hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're fine, Q. You can replicate yourself as well as the next human."

"That's impossible."

The doctor waved the instrument under Q's nose for him to see. "It's all here."

Q closed his eyes, the lights making him nauseous. He took the other's word for it. But that did not answer his one question: had Doctor Crusher lied to him? Were her instruments defective? He answered a definite 'no' to each. Crusher's little toys and jars of bacilli were the most reliable in the Federation, and he doubted she would waste her time trying to trick him into thinking he could not reproduce. It was not as if he would ever experiment with the prospect.

Q scratched his head, the drugs making thought difficult. "I don't understand it." He pondered out loud. "She showed me the scans herself. She said it was impossible." Q's eyes widened as if he had been struck, a thought occurring to him. "Q did this."

It fit the pattern. Q _was _the most warped Q to ever exist.

The doctor scanned the former entity again. "You don't have a concussion, so why the hell are you talking in third person now?"

"Not _me_, Q. Q. He's a Q from the Q-Continuum, like me. I'm not a Q anymore, I know, but I could've been if Q hadn't interfered and gotten rid of Q, who was planning to return my powers to me. Q, well, not Q, but _Q_, he's—"

The doctor clamped a hand over Q's mouth. "I've lost my interest."

As he released him, Q shrugged and focused what was left of his mind on the auction at his expense.

"The council will find you and bring you to justice, Shien," Raruel said.

Shien appeared slightly perturbed by this. "You think so?"

Raruel nodded.

Shien licked his lips, finding himself in a quandary. On one hand, there was the money. And that beast of a Tätarian was willing to provide it, even surpass the most grandiose of Raruel's offers. On the other hand, there was Q. Aldreen was easily the better option for him, outranking a dwindling, painful death in the fun department.

But then there was the money.

So the arrangements were made. Shien and his comrades received their payment, and the Tätarian received his bounty.

Q was slightly disappointed. He still wanted to be part of Shien's crew. He wanted to braid his hair, wear tight body armor and kidnap helpless people, too.

Sabin, the monstrous Tätarian, grabbed Q by a bicep with one paw-like hand and hefted him onto the transporter pad as if he was a sack of potatoes. Q didn't fight back, but he managed to catch Shien's eye one last time before the transporter energized.

Shien pressed his lips together.

* * *

Riker had immediately suggested the possibility that Ahriman had returned Q's powers to him and that the entity was alive somewhere, laughing at them and their pointless endeavors. He still could not believe that Q could have managed to pull down the _Enterprise's_ defenses with the flip of a switch and a few well-timed strokes of keys.

Picard had immediately dismissed it. Ahriman had spoken of fifty years, and two weeks was hardly a sliver of such time. There was also the remaining fact that Q had done nothing to deserve re-obtaining his precious powers in the first place.

As for Troi, the councilor was unsure what to think. She could no longer sense Q, which could only mean that he was far from the _Enterprise_, or quite dead. Either way, there was little she could do to solve their current problem.

* * *

The _Lusiatia_, or whatever the hell it was called, was even less promising than Shien's sty.

The spice the ambassador had administered to Q had worn off almost instantaneously, once he had set foot onto the giant Tätarian vessel. Q could not say he was disappointed. It was a great relief to have his mind returned to normal, but there was still a longing.

On the bright side, his mind had cleared and he was himself again, not some repulsive human who effused base emotions like foul fumes. Q would not flirt with his captors, nor assist them as he had done while under the influence of Shien's drugs.

Remembering clearly what he had done, how easily he had been manipulated by the ambassador's charms, Q felt a thick humiliation sink in, followed by a self-loathing. He had flirted with Picard. He had let the distasteful Aldreenian touch him, and had enjoyed it, had wanted more of it. He had not even called Worf _Microbrain_. How vile. How despicable.

He had not been himself at the time. Q realized that. There was nothing that could have been done, it was unavoidable. Shien would have abducted him whether he liked it or not. And then the ambassador would have sold him off to the highest bidder without a second thought.

Shien. Q felt another wave of humiliation buffet him. He had actually thought the Aldreenian had _cared_ about him, sympathized with him, wanted to help him. He had believed Shien, had been in awe of him, had trusted him unquestioningly with his life. Q did not doubt that he would have done anything Shien had commanded. He would have had sex with the filthy mortal if Shien had only asked.

Q could feel his intestines just knotting together at the thought. Somewhere, everywhere, the Continuum was having a good laugh over this, he was sure of it.

And, then, there was the fact that much of what Shien had told him in Ten-Forward had hit a tender nerve. He _was_ lonely, he _was_ confused, and he _did_ resent others. The accusation rang true, and Q was damned if he would acknowledge it.

And, lastly, what made everything all the more worse was that he had welcomed the seduction. Some miniscule, buried part of Q _wanted_ someone to understand him, to comfort him. For that brief moment, when the drugs had seeped into his brain, he had forgotten all about being human, all about the burdens of eating and taking care of his body, all about death. He had been invulnerable, he had been content, he had been happy. Nothing could have brought him down, not even the Q-Continuum. Q put these thoughts out of his mind. At the moment, he was anything _but_ happy.

As he had already noted, the _Lusiatia_ was a dump. Apparently, the vessel's primary purpose was for transporting and sentencing vagrants and prisoners without Tätarian law to interfere. There were no furnishings, only rows upon rows of cells, with those flea-bitten creatures who deemed themselves sentient pacing back and forth to keep their possessions in line.

As for the Tätarians themselves, Q despised them as much now as he had two centuries ago.

They had not bothered to shackle him. But of course, he was a human, and these monstrosities were at least twice his size, with the ability to crumble his bones as easily as he had once crumbled many worthless planets.

Nevertheless, this was not about him.

_We are glad to have you,_ the Tätarian in front of him was saying. Q frowned, raking his brain. He could barely understand him. Or her. Even while possessing his powers, Q had never been able to really tell the difference between males and females, of any species.

His skill had refined over time, and he was certainly able to distinguish with humanoids, now that he had his own 'male' body to compare to. Sex. Gender. What simple concepts. He couldn't tell one fur-bag from the other.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Q grumbled, following only because another Tätarian was still dragging him along by the arm. Arms, unfortunately, were non-detachable. "The Federation will find you pathetic curs and eliminate your species from the universe, as I should have done when I had the opportunity." It was a weak threat, granted, but he had his dignity.

The Tätarian laughed, an unpleasant hissing sound that made Q cringe. _I cannot guarantee that you will live._

"That's mortality for you," Q shot back bitterly.

_In fact—_ It smirked in its morbid amusement. _Your death will be rather torturous._

"Torturous," Q repeated mockingly. "I am pleased to see your species has brushed up on its vocabulary since we last parted company. Is 'torturous' how you regard my improvements to your species?"

The Tätarian seethed, and the picture was enough to make an enraged Klingon look like a harmless puppy. _Your 'improvements' have cost us millions of lives! We're dying because of you!"_

The hatred was enough to startle even Q. This was a creature who truly despised him and would take extreme pleasure in watching him roast in his own juices. Q was hardly unused to it, but the realization that he really was going to die in agony—that thousands of these vengeful creatures would see to it—was enough to send him shivering with fear again.

"Well, your youngest beasts have, what? Another fifty years left in their lifespan? Once my powers are restored to me, I will return to your miserable planet and see what your species has learned from what I have taught them. And, if they deserve it, I just may allow your distasteful species the honor of reproducing again."

_You will not live to see the day. Once we arrive to Tätanna, your moments will be numbered._

Q chewed his cheek, hoping the pain would stop his trembling. He could not help it. He was terror-stricken. Q did not wish to be tortured, to be left for dead. He did not wish to die, unwept, unsung, at the hands of merciless troglodytes who had absolutely no understanding of what he was going through.

Q sneered at the Tätarian who had him by the arm. "Can you go easy on the material?" Its grip tightened, claws slicing through the fabric and piercing into his skin. The former entity winced in pain. He caught his breath and called out casually to the other one. "Will there be a big turnout at my execution?"

_Everyone you have sentenced to death will be eagerly awaiting your termination._

"At least I'm popular _somewhere_."

They stopped before a cell, and the Tätarian glared down at Q, intimidating him with that abominable, hairy form. _Take off your clothing._

Q crossed his arms over his chest in disgust. "Why should I?"

_What do you need clothing for? _

Q's face went expressionless. He was not ashamed of his body, he knew no such thing as modesty, and did not understand the human need for clothes. But the Tätarian was not ordering him to strip down because it thought he would be embarrassed. It was ordering him because it thought he should be ashamed of his body. And suddenly, Q finally understood. He was ashamed, and rightfully so. His body was all he had left of himself.

His hands trembling, Q swallowed his pride and discarded his boots, and undid the fastenings of his robes, each separate button a step closer to showing the universe what was left of the all-powerful Q. He could talk, he could show off, but when the judgment day came, he was only a joke. A small, insignificant joke.

Clenching his teeth, his blood pumping in his ears, Q let his robes drop away to the floor, exposing his vulnerability. His dry skin held a pale, sickly tint, and the rest of his body was unusually thin and weak, especially for a human male of his size. And the accursed body of

Q's was now shaking uncontrollably. He kept his eyes trained forward blankly so as not to have to look at the form he was so ashamed of. Q forced his hands to rest at his hips, mustering as much dignity as possible and held his breath as the Tätarian's sharp eyes inspected him up and down. He could barely contain his apprehension, his embarrassment, his shame at being so exposed and easily manipulated, and waited for the torturous beast to make its comment.

It only let out a disgusted shrug of neither distaste nor appreciation, apparently not seeing anything all that interesting.

Q bit his lip, staring at the floor as if he stood naked in front of strange aliens all the time. He felt like every eye in the universe was staring at him, inspecting and criticizing this feeble piece of work he was.

The cell beside him was opened wide, and the Tätarian pointed at it with a claw. _Get in._

Q swallowed and held on to his defiance, refusing to move. He just stared at the creature as if he did not understand.

He felt himself being shoved with brutish force from behind and stumbled clumsily into the cell. Q landed hard on his back, his naked skin pressing against the cold cement floor as the heavy steel door slammed behind him and locked securely.

The cell was pitch black, and with his lack of covering, freezing as well. Q sat up for a moment, shivering as his white skin pricked up with gooseflesh. His entire naked frame shuddered from under the cold, and he drew his legs up hugged himself reflexively to retain what warmth remained in his body. Once he had calmed somewhat and his body temperature had adjusted to its surroundings, Q got down on all fours and began to grope around in the dark to relocate the door. He could not see past his nose, and felt the floor, using all his impaired human senses to meticulously move across the room with more animalistic instinct than he would have liked to admit.

Presently, Q discovered a wall, and ran his hands over its smooth surface, and found a small indenture in it. Excitedly, he traced out the frame and his right hand curled around the knob. The door did not move.

Fists clenched, Q fueled his anger and stood to his feet, beating against the door with as much force as he could manage with his weak muscles. He screamed to be heard, and yelled out everything that came to mind, from curses to threats he would never be able to deal out.

The former entity felt himself panicking, unable to see anything on either side of him, and stayed at the door, fighting with it and begging to be let out. He rammed his body against the wall, each impact dizzying him and knocking the wind from him. But Q continued to thrash and attack the door violently, demanding to be released until the sides of his naked body grew numb with fatigue.

He had a feeling he was bruised badly in many sensitive areas because he was sore from head to toe. Q continued to beat against the door for a long time, howling loudly until he could no longer stand, and fell to his knees, still weakly thumping the door and moaning low in his parched throat. He slumped forward, sat on his haunches with his back against the door, and panted. It was more like a wheeze as Q attempted to regain his breath.

He was abandoned again.

Q was tired, and too weak to put up a further fight. He had exhausted his voice, his muscles, and defenses. His throat was raw from screaming, and the flesh of his body was stinging madly all over. And, to make matters worse, he was cold.

Pulling at his hair in frustration, Q sat cross-legged on the floor, his head in his hands. He was too upset and sore to fall asleep, and too angry to be beaten. He let his body recover on its own until he could muster enough energy to attack the door again. After that, he would raise hell once again.

There was also the possibility that no one had heard him at all through the layers of steel that lined the walls. Q's frame shivered in the dark, and he laughed to himself with hoarse bitterness. He felt like a caged animal again, just as he had when this whole escapade had started.

And it was about to get worse.

* * *

Though he was unsure how long he had been caged in that dark, dank cell, Q was horrified to discover that his captures had not the slightest inclination to feed him during his brief stay.

Granted, as far as they were concerned, he would be dead quite soon, making the prospect of feeding a dying man ludicrous in the eyes of the Tätarians. Of course, this entire situation was ludicrous, enabling such a defense moot.

But Q had resolved not to die. Or at least make a stubborn and possibly futile effort against it. The food issue, on the other hand, was quickly becoming increasingly demanding. Q was well aware that humans could not survive long without nourishment, and the pains in his abdomen only further proved this fact. The surrounding dark around him was frightening, harrowing. Though he had no awareness of time and space while locked in this enclosure, Q had knowledge that told him he could not endure being separated from his senses like this for much longer.

A rather morbid thought then crossed Q's mind. He had studied Earth culture for centuries, knew it quite well, actually. Briefly, he had even had a dark interest in human torture devices. The Japanese had been quite artistic in this field. Even the ancient Puritans knew how to use a good thumbtack to their advantage.

But there was another torture, the torture of isolation. It was truly the most damaging, for it targeted the mind instead of the body. And, Q realized in horror, with his body being lost and foreign to him, his mind was all he still considered his. And even his own mind was failing him.

Humans could not survive isolation for very long, Q knew. They began hallucinating, begging for comfort, for another human being. A human body craved to be surrounded with others like it. The isolation soon went to the human's mind, and eventually drove them insane.

They became screaming, violent, barbaric monsters. Either that or quiet vegetables. It took months sometimes, but the result was always the same. No matter how resilient, no matter how determined, the mind always gave under pressure.

But Q himself was used to the isolation. Granted, it was unnerving and greatly irritating, but he had grown accustomed to living in solitude, having spent centuries on end in exile. He had endured it before, and he would endure it now.

So, willing to fight this to the last moment, Q lay curled into a corner, his naked form shivering in the cold. The entire room was deathly quiet, spare his soft, irregular breathing. He had to stay alive. But the darkness was descending upon him like a thick blanket, enveloping him, driving him to the brink of...

He had to stay sane.

Another stab of pain struck him in the stomach. It was getting worse. One of his hands slowly moved down, and he felt himself, touched the hollow in his abdomen. The skin there pricked up, his cold hands irritating the sensitive flesh.

Q would have preferred to be burned alive. As far as he knew, that was on the agenda as well, after those savage fleabags broke his spirit. He blinked, seeing nothing and lifting his head towards the door. Or at least in its direction. He turned it to the opposite wall. Where had the door been, anyway? It did not matter anymore. He no longer possessed the type of energy anymore to pound against it again and demand to be released.

A second torture method came to mind then as Q listened to his stomach grumble at him unpleasantly. Hunger, thirst. The isolation did not frighten him any more. He would die of starvation before the insanity would have the chance to set in.

Every limb felt as if it weighed twice as much. Q could not move, not a finger, not a muscle. The _Enterprise_ crew would save him, he was sure of it. They always did.

Q's ears pricked upon hearing a rumbling noise off in the distance. His eyes darted across the empty, pitch-black enclosure frantically, trying to locate it.

It took him a long moment to realize that the sound had not occurred. He moaned, and his own voice startled him. Q lowered his head and let himself drift into a restless sleep. It was all that was left to do.

* * *

* * *

Shien sat in his tattered captain's chair, watching the filthy viewscreen warily as the _Lusiatia's_ warp drives kicked in and the Tätarian vessel sped away to leave the two ships remaining centered at the rendezvous point.

Raruel was still there on the opposing side of the screen, shooting the mercenaries his patented death glare. It was having its effect on Shien, who shifted uncomfortably under the hateful gaze.

The doctor, standing behind his tactical station, remained quiet for the first time Shien had ever known him, evidently deciding that his place was not included in whatever was about to happen. Trent knew better than to get involved, as did his two pilots, who operated their controls in silence. That, and the doctor just did not want to take the blame for anything unpleasant.

Shien was the first to break the unsettling silence between his crew and the opposing Aldreenian authority. Raruel was quite powerful, the mercenary knew, but he could not allow himself to become intimidated by a stuff-shirt like the High Advisor's lackey.

Noisily, he cleared his throat and addressed the viewscreen. "Well, Raruel, now that our business is done here, I guess we'll be seeing you." Shien paused a moment before adding, "No hard feelings, right?"

Raruel said nothing for a long moment. "You are well aware of what crimes you have committed to the council, Shien," he said finally, his blue eyes prodding the mercenaries with their cold gaze. "You are obstructing justice and the progression of Aldreenian--"

"Let's get one thing straight, boss," Shien cut in forcefully, holding up a hand. "I want no part in your revolution. That's why I escaped from Aldreen. And if you had any sense, you would do the same."

"I don't give up as easily as you, Shien," Raruel shot back. "You are a coward--"

"And what do you think Q would have been able to do?" the mercenary sneered. "Do you really think he would have helped you?"

"In time..."

Shien laughed unpleasantly, waving the foolish Aldreenian away. "Whatever, Raruel. Q's better off with the Tätarians." At least, Shien _hoped_. He twisted in his seat to nod to Trent. "Doc, get us out of here. I've heard enough from this guy."

The doctor shot one last uneasy glance to Raruel, noting the anger on the Aldreenian's face. One of his hands moved to work the panel in front of him hesitantly.

Raruel started forward, his furious face enlarging in the viewscreen. "That human was our last hope! Now you have ruined all we've worked for! Five hundred years, we've waited! All for your own financial gain!"

Shien rolled his eyes, making a mocking gesture with one of his hands. "Blah, blah, blah."

"Your use to us has expired, Shien," Raruel hissed.

The offset, menacing tone of the other's voice startled every mercenary seated on the bridge. Shien sat up ramrod straight, glaring at his adversary. "What's that supposed to--?"

"Sal!" the doctor cried out through the commotion, waving his arms around wildly. "Fire! Fire!"

Torn between two polls, Shien looked back to his tactical officer in confusion. "Fire? What are you talking about--?"

On the viewscreen, they could see Raruel twisting to make a gesture to someone off to the side.

The next second, a blow hit the mercenary ship, causing it to rock slightly in space. The doctor stumbled backwards and Shien tightened his grip on the armrests so as not to fly from his chair.

"What was that?" Shien yelled, eyes wide. "Damage! Someone tell me what just happened!"

Trent climbed his way back to his station, supporting his entire weight on the controls. "They fired on us...it hit our shields..."

"That was a warning shot," Raruel interrupted melodramatically. "You are about to pay the price for your treachery, Shien."

Shien could not believe this. Raruel had fired on them! Raruel! Sweet, _innocent_ Raruel! Apparently, he had underestimated the aristocratic Aldreenian's desperation. As he gulped and tried to connect the pieces of what was going on, the doctor rushed forward in a frenzy.

"Fire at him, dammit!" Trent shouted. "He's going to kill us!"

"Fire at Raruel?" Shien wailed in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?" He turned back at the screen, waving his hands in a frantic plea. "Raruel, isn't there some way you can forgive me? Can't we just be friends again?"

Raruel was raising his arm to administer the cue to fire again.

Not heeding his leader's concerns and trusting his own instincts, the doctor flung himself towards one of the pilot's stations.

Realizing what the doctor was about to do, Shien jumped to his feet. "No, you fool! Get away from there! Stop! I order you!"

"You don't understand, Shien!" Trent yelled hurriedly, shoving the objecting pilot away from the controls violently. "He's not bluffing! He's going to--"

Shien tackled the raving doctor, wrestling him away from the station. "Leave it alone, Doc! You're going to get us killed!"

The doctor fought the other off with all his strength, batting him away and struggling in frustration. "No! Let me go! Fire on them!" he urged the pilots. "Listen to me, goddammit! Fire!"

The pilots stared in confusion as their leader slapped the doctor on both his cheeks with wincing force. Something had to be done, but who would they listen to?

"Calm down!" Shien yelled into the doctor's face, shaking him by the shoulders.

On the viewscreen, one of the pilots saw Raruel shake his head in disgust and nod another cue to fire his ship's weapons. Raruel was not just kidding around with that 'expiring' threat of his.

Shien slapped the doctor again. "You're not thinking clea--"

Cutting him off, the doctor punched the other in the face, pushing his captain away as he stumbled to his knees and fumbled the controls of the pilot's station beside him with a determined frown creasing his face.

Shien grabbed Trent by the shoulders, trying to pull him away, but was one second too slow. The doctor had hit the disruptor button that sealed Raruel's fate.

Shien's face whitened as he stared in shock at place where Raruel's vessel had once occupied. Now, there was nothing but debris cluttering and blanketing the small pocket of space. Nothing moved anywhere.

Pulling off his helmet, Shien ran his fingers through his scalp, staring forward at nothing in particular.

"I had to do it," the doctor said flatly, standing to his feet and helping his leader up. "He would have fired. And where would that have left us?"

Shien dusted himself off, quietly backing into his seat with a thump. "You didn't have to kill him. His ship wasn't even a match for us."

Trent swallowed, nodding as he stood behind his tactical station, saying nothing for a long time.

The pilot at ops who had his station violated by the doctor twisted in his chair. He brushed blond hair from his eyes and raised an eyebrow at his leader, who was lost in a stunned reverie. "So," he inquired, breaking the silence. "What now?"

* * *

Q had noticed that the stomach pains, which had at once been a constant growling, were now almost completely nonexistent. He at first did not know what to make of this. Perhaps humans did not need so much after all. But, as time flowed and days passed, the growling gave way to an even more maddening dryness in his throat. The thirst was making it difficult to think.

Q lay curled into a tight ball of limbs, dreamlessly lulled in a heavy sleep that was more of a coma than genuine rest. In that state, Q did not notice the door of his cell opening and a body entering his dank quarters.

Q awoke to the sensation of being poked in the side with something hard and uncomfortable. At first, he had tried to ignore it, but the poking only became more pronounced against his ribs, making sleep impossible. So, after a full minute, Q finally managed to lift his head. But why bother? He could still see nothing.

"What?" Q asked the prodding object distantly, his throat hoarse, rasping in his ears. Weakly, he let his limp body have its wish, and paid the object no attention.

Resenting being ignored, the poking object jabbed his side with powerful force, causing a wave of agony to flow from Q's ribs to his spine. He wanted to scream, to curse the cause of his pain, but his mouth did not cooperate.

As his mind continued to clear, Q then became aware of a breathing that was not his own. There was most definitely someone or something standing over him. The source of this aggravating poking.

Then, Q caught the scent of something, something desperately pleasing. Water gave off no odor in actuality, but he could have sworn he had smelled it. Q could nearly taste it in his mouth, and he surprised himself by jumping into a sitting position, outstretching his hands demandingly.

Something met his hands. At first, it was fur, but as he felt closer, he could distinguish the slick, cold feeling of glass under his fingertips. He clutched onto this with eager fingers, which grasped the container and pulled it towards him. The other party's hands instantly

let go, relinquishing the glass of life-giving liquid to the deathly dehydrated human.

Q held the glass between two weak hands, all his strength and energy flowing towards it. He could not see it, but the touch of it under his fingers told him that he was not hallucinating its existence. The thought that it was poisoned entered his mind then for a split second,

but he forgot about it instantly as his hands brought the glass to his lips and he began to gulp the water greedily.

The simple substance quickly worked its magic on him, restoring partially what energy he had lost, moistening his dry throat, tingling his mouth and taste buds, reviving the rest of his body as his blood absorbed the much-needed liquid.

It was not enough.

Q held the empty glass out expectantly, and was surprised when it was refilled again. He eagerly swallowed its contents again, careful to not miss a drop. Q nearly spilled most of it over himself in his desperation, some water splashing on his face.

Once he had calmed down, gasping from the effort, Q blinked around, trying to locate the one who had brought the water to which had restored him to life. He could still hear its low breathing in front of him. The dependence on such a simple substance such as water, the vulnerability in his dependence, angered Q.

Q caught the glint of two eyes above him, and cleared his throat, working his jaw as he tried to form words. What came out shocked him, the sound of his own voice faraway and huskier than he had remembered in his ears. "H-how...long?" He trailed off, unable to say anything else, and hoping the thing understood him.

_Three days,_ his cell's Tätarian guard said, yanking the glass from his hands.

Three days. Three days he had been locked in this isolation chamber with no food or water.

Unsure whether Tätarians could see in the dark, Q crossed his legs, trying to compose himself as best he could manage. He was quiet a moment as his mind raced.

"Why?" he whispered after the long pause.

The creature did not answer, and quietly left his cell, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. He sat there shuddering in the cold darkness for a moment before he laid back down uncomfortably against the wall, biting his lower lip against the tears.

* * *

Time seemed to have slowed to a near stop. As minutes turned into hours, Q only had his breathing to keep him company.

Of course, up until now Q had not fully believed he was mortal. Granted, it was rather obvious now that he was capable of dying, but accepting his own demise was another issue altogether.

Well, it was foolish to deny the truth any longer, Q decided bitterly while he slept. Sleeping was all he had been doing. Protesting his capture and attempting escape from his filthy cell seemed rather imbecilic to him now. That was something Picard would have done.

Q's thoughts briefly settled on Picard. He wondered what the captain was doing now, how he would react when they found his lifeless body. If they even found him. Q imagined La Forge tampering with the _Enterprise's_ sensors to make locating him impossible, and Worf accidentally firing on the Tätarian vessel if they ever did. Somehow, the former entity didn't blame them.

He knew, deep down, that they'd never do that.

Picard was not going to rescue him, and the Continuum was not going to even bat an eye at his death.

Q closed his eyes tightly against it, fighting tears again. He wasn't going to think about it. Nothing could be done.

He was in a deep sleep when the steel door to his cell opened again with a thundering clap. It was enough to revive him slightly, but Q kept his eyes closed drowsily, not bothering to respond.

Someone was standing behind him. Q's human sense of smell detected the Tätarian's foul odor, which distinctly informed him that this was the same guard who had mercifully offered the gift of water to him. Though Q's mouth was still dry, he was now too tired to even think about swallowing. He did not so much as move, hoping the irritating creature would go away and allow him a slow death in peace. Really, these furry fiends made humans appear compassionate.

The creature's breathing was low and soothing. For a moment, it said nothing. But when it finally chose to speak, the sound of its soft tone, in contrast to its harshly grating voice, caused Q to cringe in repulsion.

_Are you awake?_ the guard hissed.

Q laughed flatly, ignoring how the action made his entire body shake and cause his stomach to knot together. The inquiry itself had not been humorous. Far from it. But the hopelessness of the situation had made Q brave enough to attempt impudence.

The Tätarian seemed to take this as a yes and moved forward. _Stay still._

Q continued to laugh, well aware that he was beginning to sound insane in hysterics

Q felt himself grabbed from behind by furred fingers with enough strength in each to crush bone. Too tired and fatigued to resist, he allowed himself to pushed against the stone floor. With the drowsiness setting in like a warm blanket, Q smiled upon realizing that his troubles would be over soon.

The Tätarian behind him forced Q to lie on his stomach, and he limply complied, molding himself to the ground. Furred paws, claws piercing into the soft human flesh under its fingers, pried Q's legs apart so it could sit between them.

Then Q felt a heavy weight against him, almost forcing all the air from his fragile human lungs. He gasped, trying to regain his lost breath, and became dimly aware through his fogged mind of something grind against him, pressing in. Q struggled, trying to crawl away from it, but his body was tightly pressed against the floor, the guard's larger form nearly lying on top of him. The coarse fur against his sensitive skin felt like pins stabbing against him, and the blunt object intruding his cavity stung, sending rays of agony through him.

Q wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his mouth. He was being ripped open. He could feel the muscles separating from the strain, and continued to struggle against his captor's strength, trying to wriggle from the guard's grasp.

_Stop squirming!_ the Tätarian shouted, a clawed paw shoving the human against the floor, holding him at bay.

Rapidly losing the ability to think, Q's ribs hit the floor, the surge of pain stunning him from further movement. As his mind whirled in panic, the pressure against him continued to strengthen as whatever was penetrating him forced itself in further, sending hot waves of agony through the tearing flesh. Q, panting, tried to close his mind against it, tell himself it was not happening, but the furred hands on his shoulders, and the weight, and the pain between his legs was too much.

Then, as the probing object inside him began to move, Q finally realized what was going on, and what the Tätarian guard had in mind to do with his limp and compliant body.

Q's eyes shot open in horror, revived with renewed energy as he increased his struggles, trying to shake off his attacker, putting all his strength into escaping.

The guard was having none of it. The creature shoved the human down again, knocking the wind out of Q's lungs.

Q squirmed and twisted, letting every human reaction and subtle instinct gain control of his muscles and limbs. He detested violence of any sort, but the situation most certainly called for it, and he surprised himself by abruptly dislodging himself from the prodding object inside him.

Before Q could escape, the Tätarian grabbed him by the waist and forced him down again, a large paw covering the back of the human's skull and shoving his face against the hard surface of the stone floor.

And as Q's face hit the floor, his nose cracked against the stone and snapped. Q cried out in pain, forgetting about the Tätarian still forcing his hips against the cold floor, as hot blood streamed across his face.

Q began to scream.

Q's frenzied screaming was enough to alert the other Tätarian guards, and to his surprise they stormed into the cramped cell and pried the intruder off him.

While the Tätarians berated the guard and argued amongst each other, Q's eyes rolled inside their sockets. The loss of blood and the pain make him sick and dizzy. He could make out little of their speech, its rapidness lost to him. The leader of the guards plucked Q up by an arm and shouted something.

Q wasn't paying attention. He coughed weakly as his head fell back, causing metallic-tasting blood to flow down his throat. Closing his eyes, Q allowed himself to pass out.

* * *

A sharp stab of pain erupted from his nose, causing Q to bolt forward, fully awake.

Furred hands went to his shoulders, forcing him back down. Q immediately struggled against the pressure, which only provoked his captors to strap him down against the table. He blinked around, his vision white as his eyes, used to blankness, adjusted to the light.

As the face of a fanged Tätarian towered over him, Q decided blindness was not necessarily a curse. Focused on the repulsive figure occupying his entire field of vision, he was momentarily distracted from what the creature was doing. Then, that pain again, like needles piercing his skin, causing him to wince and gasp.

The beast above him growled in frustration, tugging at the thread. _Hold his head down,_ it grumbled to another creature. _He's too small._

Q felt a second pair of furred hands, about twice the size of his own skull, prep his head firmly against the board he was lying against. As he tried to figure out what was happening, the human crossed his eyes to see a needle closing in on his face and poking him in the nose.

"Ow!" Q exclaimed, mostly out of anger than in agony, though that was plentiful. He tried to pull away from the stitching needle, but his head did not budge.

_What's wrong, Doctor?_ the Tätarian restraining his head asked. Q realized that this was the same foul creature from before. The soreness in his torn body cavity, in a territory somewhere Q did not want to think about, seemed to revive itself. The soreness was all over, in his ribs, in his legs, and most certainly in his buttocks and his nose.

"A Tätarian doctor," Q wheezed out, his voice nearly inaudible. "Now I've seen everything."

If the creatures understood anything of what he said, they did not rise to the bait. He considered saying it in Tätarian to clear up all discrepancies, but was quite sure his human vocal cords would be unable to form the words.

_The bone is out of alignment. _

Q did not like the sound of that. He felt his nose being grasped by burly fingers and twisted hard. As a fresh explosion of agony hit him, he clenched his teeth to keep from shrieking and showing more weakness.

After the bone had been reset, Q's nose was unskillfully stitched up with coarse thread he was sure was not made for this purpose. As he endured this horrid process, Q surprised himself by remaining steadily quiet and uttering not a sound.

Once the finial stitch had been made, the doctor finished its ministrations, severing the thread and stepping back to admire its workmanship on its human patient.

Q was allowed to sit up on the operating slab, and he pulled the tattered blanket covering his still naked form around his legs. He sat there quietly for a long moment, glaring at his hands and everything around him, knowing that he had just been healed only to be brutally torn apart mere hours from this moment.

Q felt something pointed pinch him in an exposed bicep, and turned to discover that the doctor was offering him a mirror. His lower lip curled. He wasn't about to give in to this brand new method of torture. He didn't want to see.

The Tätarian brought the mirror up anyway.

Q stared in disbelief at his reflection. He had spent hours lounged in front of his mirror, examining every flaw and perfection in his human body. Q had been well acquainted with what was there, knowing that he could always pride himself on his appearance, despite being retained to one particular form.

"Thank you, Frankenstein," Q sneered. He knew he looked ridiculous leaning threateningly close to a creature twice his size and smelling of grime and blood. "I bid you to now return to your sheep skins and pig entrails."

The creature only growled in response. Q glared at him, and sliding off the table with all

his dignity, tied the blanket around his waist.

"You." Q made a gesture to the Tätarian guard. "Take me back to my cell."

The creature did not appear to have any objections, and led the human through the hallway, quietly thumping past other prisoners and waving its tail behind it.

Q trailed after it slowly, casually glancing around for a possible escape route. Walking itself was a demanding chore to his tired, sore body, and thinking came even harder, but he had to do something.

_Walk faster_, the guard hissed.

Q's walk turned to a near crawl. "I'm tired," he complained, taking this momentary pause to take in his surroundings with more accuracy, noting every enemy and every fellow prisoner occupying the hallways, every wire and crevice.

Q was standing directly next to the door that led out of the detention area. The guard was five yards in front of him, and no one was around to notice if he happened to slip out of sight. If he was quick about it, he would be able to find a temporary hiding compartment, formulate a plan of action, and jettison an escape pod, returning to civilization.

With one last dart of his eyes, Q flung himself for the doors to make his escape.

The Tätarian guard caught him by the arm before he could creep out to freedom, and pulled Q back to his cell.

His opportunity missed, Q held back the urge to sob, glancing over his shoulder at the door, which became more distant with each passing moment as he was dragged away, arm in the unwavering grasp of the Tätarian's fist. Now, there was only one other way he'd ever be traveling through that door, and it was looming in his future.

The guard unlocked the heavy steel door, prying it open and beckoning Q inside, anticipating whether the human would comply or run away. It stood beside the door like an omnipresent shadow.

Q regarded the filthy creature narrowly, then the cell. The fact that the Tätarian was actually giving him the_ option_ to comply or get beaten was frustrating. They locked eyes blankly, waiting for the other to back down in a personal face off.

_This is not a staring match,_ a passing Tätarian muttered impatiently. He shoved Q into the cell and locked the door.

* * *

Sabin un-cuffed Q's wrists and made a gesture with a clawed finger to the viewport. _Look_, _I want you to see what your interference has done to our world._

Q, naked again and eyes half-closed tiredly, approached the viewport with uncaring wariness. The small planet took on a yellow hue from the vessel's position above it. He wetted his chapped lips with the tip of his tongue, wondering how many ridiculous formalities they would force him through before he would be allowed to die.

The Tätarian nodded towards the dying planet before them. _Our civilization is in shambles. Before you came, there were over two million of us. Now, there are only 418 of us..._

"418 more than the universe needs."

Sabin immediately closed in on the human threateningly, baring its fangs, the low growl in its throat reverberating. _Your test did nothing to help us as you had promised! Instead of evolving, we're dying!"_

"You're preaching to the choir." Q was tired and delirious, and the room was spinning and tumbling.

Realizing how this was getting it nowhere, the creature made an indication to its guards. _Take him to the station. I will follow you shortly. And contact the populace immediately._

The guards acknowledged this and converged on Q, grabbing him by both of his upper arms, preparing to drag him off the ship. Q put up no resistance, but glared at the Tätarian from the corner of an eye as he was boarded into the cramped shuttlecraft.

The ride to the planet itself was a hazy blur in Q's mind as he slipped in and out of a dazed consciousness. At one moment, he had forgotten who he was entirely, and in another he was fully alert. While in this latter state of mind, the consideration of finally losing his sanity floored him. The thought frightened him to his inner core, to die like this, alone and despondent. He knew he was a coward, granted, but Q had always expected to die with _some _dignity and honor.

Q stared out the viewport as Tätanna grew closer, pretending he didn't see his reflection in its slick surface. A golden speck of a planet not so far away captured his attention for a moment. As the shuttle neared the planet's atmosphere, it disappeared, and Q faded in and out of consciousness again.

He was not sure if he had walked or had been carried, but the two guards piloting the craft had escorted him to an underground room somewhere on the station. Q guessed he'd be killed here. The room was cold, dank, equipped with one wood bench, and reminded him immediately of his cell.

_Too bad, this dying thing,_ Q thought wryly to himself, trying to keep his spirits up. _Now I'll never live to show them how to properly decorate._

Ahriman, lying outstretched on the bench, rolled his eyes upon overhearing this comment.

_Stay here, until we are ready for you,_ one of the barbarian guards told Q.

Q watched them exit quietly, rubbing his arms with both hands to keep from freezing. Apparently, he was in a room leading to a large auditorium. He could overhear the high drone of hundreds of separate hissing voices resounding from some distance to his left. A tingling sensation found its way into his midsection, and Q interpreted it as stage fright.

There was no denying it now. There was no escape from the inevitable. He really was going to meet a slow, agonizing death after all.

"Well, that _was_ the point," Ahriman sputtered impatiently. Oblivious, Q sighed and moved to sit on the bench, forcing Ahriman to move his legs.

Q rested his elbows in his thighs, holding his head in his hands as he groaned to himself, closing his eyes against it. He was the perfect picture of the anguished whipping boy.

Ahriman examined his rival a moment. Q was pale, gaunt, tired, withdrawn and appeared much older than only five days of aging could accomplish. He looked beaten. Ahriman smirked to himself, leaning closer to his rival. "Five days, Q. Was that _all _it took? That was all it took to reduce you to the worthless bag of flesh I see before me? I have to say, I'm disappointed. If you were still a Q, I'd assimilate you."

He sighed, a shadowed hand passing through the other's hair as if to pat him on the head. "So full of pride, so arrogant, so irrepressible, so flawed, so, so..." Ahriman made a goading gesture, smirking. "You know what I mean. I admit, you've provided some entertainment over the eons, but," he shrugged helplessly, "there is little I can do to stop progress."

Q sat up straighter as the distant sounds of excited cheering escaped through the walls. He took a sharp gasp of air, grimacing as he realized he was holding his breath.

A pocket watch materialized in Ahriman's hand, and he regarded it merrily. "Ah! The time draws near!"

Q stood, hearing footsteps in the outer corridor coming his way. He paced around anxiously on weakened legs.

Ahriman reclined on the bench once again, watching the other's hurried movements with another mild roll of the eyes. Q had been through an ordeal of his own, he knew, but Ahriman found it interesting how he could still manage to find the energy to fidget.

"Oh," Ahriman wailed bitterly. "If only I was not instructed not to interfere! All the fun I could have. But wait! I've _already _interfered!"

The main door was unlocked, and the two guards reentered, growling.

"Now's the time to pray for mercy, Q," Ahriman said merrily. "Tell them how you have a wife, a job, mouths to feed..."

Q did not hesitate, and followed the Tätarians out of the room.

Ahriman stared after him, his hands dropping in his lap. He stared around the empty cell in disbelief for a long moment before shaking his head. Snorting, he disappeared.

* * *

Q followed the two barbarians down a long, dark corridor lined with torches. It had been designed to be narrow and claustrophobic in order to intimidate prisoners heading to their deaths in the amphitheater up ahead. The hallway reminded the human distantly of a dream he had suffered through on his first week as a human. At any moment, Q expected the floor to give way underneath him. Of course, there was one important difference; the death here was quite real, as opposed to the fantasy fabricated by his sleeping mind.

Any other human would have been deeply humiliated to be seen naked and bruised, with a broken and poorly stitched nose, being led by two towering beasts twice his size into an amphitheatre of creatures salivating over his death. The auditorium itself had once been built to seat over two thousand individual Tätarians, but was now only occupied with a fifth of that number. It was odd how much mortal civilizations depended on reproduction.

One of the guards continued to prod him forward, and Q forced himself to walk proudly, stately, and not pass out from exhaustion. As they neared, he could hear the crowd quiet suddenly, and the gruff, commanding voice of Sabin cut through the air as it addressed the populace.

Q and his little entourage halted before entering the stage of the amphitheatre, and the human was allowed to listen to the Tätarian's speech. Its voice was impassioned and seething with anguish as it described the 'ceremony' and what 'the guilty' had done to deserve this grandiose method of execution. As he listened to the emotional tale, in which Tätarian warriors were glorified for their bravery over the evil of tests made by their omnipotent adversary, Q rolled his eyes. They could have their little game. He didn't care. The crowd ate the words up as some wept and others growled their rage like frothing savages.

As Sabin neared the end of its tale, the crowd roared enthusiastically, cheering their leader.

_We have been terribly wronged,_ Sabin was saying over their howls. _And the Overseer knows this, and has allowed us our chance of vengeance after many years of searching. Our time has come, and we have finally captured the heinous creature who has committed so many injustices against us_.

The exuberant cheers rose in volume. _We have been granted the chance of appeasement, and I assure you that we will not take such long-awaited redemption lightly!_ The Tätarian turned to the guards and made a beckoning gesture. _Bring him out! Let them see the evil creature who has brought such suffering upon us for his own sadistic entertainment! Let them see the creature who deserves so vicious a death sentence! Bring him out!_

The Tätarian observers turned toward Q, each aged pile of fur quieting as they held their breath, knowing they were about to witness the being they had hunted down for so long.

The guards pulled Q willingly out from the corridor and into the auditorium. Q took in his surroundings with nearly animalistic attentiveness, noting the way the beasts glared at him with tangible hatred. He let himself be dragged by the two Tätarians until he was standing beside Sabin, who he shared a mutual glower with.

The creature examined Q for a moment with an odd expression. Whether it was disgust or not was difficult gauge. Sabin turned back to the crowd. _I know what a shock this is to all of you, that this...being...could be the cause of all our woes. But I witnessed his torture when I was a youth, and as weak as his current form may be, his cruelty remains._

The observers shouted their enthusiastic agreement, and Q forced himself to appear aloof. Maybe if he didn't play their game, they'd get bored and let him go.

When the cheers had died down once more, the Tätarian returned his glare to the human, lowering his voice slightly. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Q rocked back and forth on his heels, considering it. "_What_ defense? I'm guilty, aren't I?"

Sabin's eyes darkened in irritation_. Do you mock?_

This brought out a surge of anger from the crowd, and they grumbled dangerously as if this was another crime to add to Q's long list of offences.

Q made an extraneous gesture. "It depends on what you think I'm mocking." His lips twisted into a firm line as he continued. "If you think I'm mocking your barbarianism, your infantile methods of torture and impractical beliefs, the way you complain of punishments you deserved...then yes, I'm mo--"

Q was thrown across the floor as Sabin knocked him down with a bat of a clawed paw. The blow itself was meager, meant only to quiet the human, but that meant nothing considering Tätarians were capable of bringing down large mammals much the same way.

The human toppled backwards, falling to the ground hard as his hands went protectively to his face. The Tätarian's claws had left four open slash wounds across his delicate flesh, and Q was blinded by blood. He couldn't wipe it out of his eyes. It came streaming down too fast. He tried to scramble to his feet, but stumbled.

The mob of Tätarians in the stands propelled themselves forward, each equally wanting to partake in the massacre. Sabin shouted over them, trying to calm the crowd, but they were too blinded by the prospect of revenge to listen.

The mob of furious Tätarians were soon beating one another in their eagerness to shred the human apart themselves. Q struggled as they descended on him, but his body was still weak and he was unable to do much to defend himself. Blood blinded him, blood overwhelmed his sense of taste, and his broken nose prevented smell. All he felt was stinging agony.

Afterwards, feeling himself being groped, kicked, choked, shredded and beaten in more ways that he thought possible, even Q's own cries died down as his dried throat gave out. A pair of fangs sunk into his bicep and he stopped struggling against their attacks. Though his physical suffering continued, and he cringed and writhed in agony, his mental torment ended.

It felt like hours. He was barely aware of a disturbance and the Tätarians freezing in place, nails still stuck in his flesh. Delirious and broken and in overwhelming pain, Q felt himself grabbed from behind by two hands.

The joke was on them this time. The beasts could beat him, but they could not force him to stay awake to endure their torture any longer. With nothing left to fight for, Q closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall into a cleansing darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

_**-Past-**_

Something was poking him. Something sharp and metallic. Right in the small of the back. A stabbing pain shot up through his spine and across his entire body, focused on this sensitive pressure point. As the pain became more unbearable and pronounced, Q's eyes fluttered open suddenly and he gazed wide-eyed about himself.

An oddly familiar stained ceiling glared back at Q from his reclining position on his back. His eyes soon adjusted to the new image taking up his field of vision, and he concentrated on it for a long time. The fog surrounding his brain began to clear. There was something about that ceiling. Every muscle in his body was sore, but strangely enough, he felt none of the remaining pain from his experiences on Tätanna.

The thought caused him to suddenly bolt forward in the bed, his eyes wide and searching the room with feverish intent. But he wasn't on the _Lusiatia_ or on Tätanna; he couldn't smell the slightest whiff of Tätarian. Frowning, Q touched the bridge of his nose, remembering the blow it had taken. Instead of gruesome stitches, the only remains of that harrowing infliction were the bumps of newly formed scar tissue.

Fighting off a wave of nausea, Q squinted across the bedroom. The familiarity that prodded the back of his consciousness annoyed him deeply. Some Good Samaritan had rescued him from a bloody death on Tätanna.

_Damned mortals_, Q thought bitterly. Always sticking their primitive noses where they don't belong. As he thought of this, the idea that the_ Enterprise_ crew had found and rescued him lifted his spirits.

Steadying himself on his weak arms, Q swung his legs over the side of the bunk, rubbing the small of his back absently. As he moved to stand, the former entity heard the floor beneath him, squishy under his feet, give way and groan loudly.

Startled, Q jumped back to see a helmeted man sit up from the floor, coughing himself awake. After a moment of rubbing his eyes, he looked up and smiled. "Q? Finally, you're awake."

It took a full minute for Q, in his lesser state, to recognize the speaker. "Shien," he muttered hoarsely, his voice a raspy squeak.

The mercenary breathed a sigh of relief as he stood. "At least you don't have any brain damage. You were in a coma for at least a week. We figured you were going to keel over." He paused thoughtfully. "If we hadn't gotten to you when we did, you probably would have."

Shien started going over the variety of injuries he had suffered, but Q's mind was still swimming from the turn of events, and he heard nothing the other rambled about.

"Wait!" Q exclaimed, cutting him off mid-sentence describing some mutilated appendage. "_You _saved me? You're the one who sold me to those Tätarian beasts, you lumpen mortal!"

"And it was a mistake," Shien admitted, not understanding the former godling's vehemence.

In this lull of conversation, Q was allowed to not only digest his surroundings, but also notice his new attire. He had been stripped down on Tätanna to the naked skin the Continuum had given him, and apparently someone had taken great care in arranging him with new garments.

"Bleh!" Q exclaimed in disgust as he beheld the Aldreenian armor he boasted, including everything spare the helmet. "What am I? Q, your personal dress-up doll?" He could only imagine what he must have looked like.

"That's from my old wardrobe." Shien stroked his chin. "We don't wear much of anything fancy, unfortunately. I had to stitch some extra fabric into the jumpsuit to make it fit you." He was about to say something more when a chime sounded. "Come in, Trent."

The door parted, and the doctor Q remembered from before entered the filthy chambers that he now realized belonged to Shien. In some form of human embarrassment, Q realized he had been sleeping in the mercenary's own bed.

"I see our little visitor is awake at last," the doctor sneered, examining Q. "Get up and eat some dinner with us."

Shien frowned. "But he just woke up...shouldn't he regain his strength before--"

"He's been lying around on his ass long enough as it is," Trent answered. "And after he's done eating our food, I want him to come down to engineering with me. We sustained some minor damage to our engines when the Banean ship fired on us yesterday when we were evacuating Ralgai V, Sal." He shot his patient another sour glance. "If you're going to stay with us, you're going to work. I have to deal with enough dead weights as it is."

Q felt himself becoming irked. A normal human would have been thankful to be alive, but Q did not want to be alive if all his demands were not met first. "I wouldn't want to stay on this flying crate if you invited me," he spat, turning to Shien. "Return me back to the_ Enterprise_!"

"Q, do you have any idea what the Federation would do to us if we surrendered you?" Shien asked in disbelief.

"I don't care."

"Isn't that a coincidence," Trent broke in sardonically. "We both have a mutual indifference for the other's life. Either you work for us like a good prisoner, or we toss you out the hatch without a second thought. Which do you think will kill you first? The freezing cold, the vacuum, or the lack of oxygen?"

The former entity narrowed his eyes, about to retort when Shien held up his hands. "That's enough. We can discuss this over dinner."

"Lovely," Trent and the former entity muttered in unison.

Q exchanged a wary glance with the doctor before being led to the dinning room, supported by Shien's guiding arm.

* * *

By reasonable human standards, the dinner served to the mercenaries was hardly fit to bear the name. But Q, having not eaten a meal of any sort in over a week, did not notice the overripe produce, the stale rations, or the molding bread. He gulped down the food and asked for seconds so quickly that the crew, who had been forced to feast this way for several years, could not believe their eyes. Desperation was apparently a strong motivator.

Shien picked at his plate of lifeless shredded lettuce with a fork as the doctor went over a navigational chart in which their next course was mapped. "And how long will it take to get to the system?" he said.

The doctor consulted his chart, stroking his perfectly-shaped chin. "At warp seven? Two and a half days." As his captain absorbed this information, he turned his attention to the former entity. "You. Can you cook?"

Q swallowed a mouthful of undercooked meat, forgetting his self-proclaimed vegetarianism, to give the other an offended glare. "I would not be caught dead in an apron."

"Can you mop? Make beds? Do laundry? Scrub carbon scoring off walls?"

The former entity examined his un-calloused hands. "These are not the hands of a homemaker. My body may be weak from fatigue and unable to protest my staying here, but I will not _clean _after you." He pronounced the word as if it were a dreaded curse.

The mercenary who worked at the ops station added, "Have you ever fought in armed combat?" When his only response was a terse snort, he went on. "Have you at least operated a phaser?"

The answer was still a 'no,' and the crew stared at him as if he were a being from another dimension.

Rubbing his temples, the doctor mumbled mostly to himself, "Not only can this prick not handle his Yalotta spice, but he's completely useless!"

"I can pilot a shuttlecraft," Q provided half-heartedly. "And perform mathematical calculations that would make your simian brains explode."

The two nameless mercenaries shot the former entity looks that promised many tortures. It seemed the only Aldreenian on board who was not considering tossing Q out the hatch was Shien.

"Hold on, Doctor," Shien said. "Q's smart. That must be worth something." He elbowed the human pointedly. "C'mon, Q, tell him about your casaba theory."

"We have no need for a 'smart,' person," Trent grumbled, grinding his teeth. "I'm the one holding this ship together."

Q, having finished his filling meal, looked around. The dining room was hardly a dining room at all-- it was actually the bridge, except a stack of crates had been added to a corner as a makeshift table. There wasn't even a tablecloth. "What's your secret?" he sneered. "Twigs and duct-tape?"

Q looked on in pleasure as the doctor's handsome face turned a dark shade of red. "Look, you little shit, I healed you and I can take you apart!"

Shien held his hands up to hold off any further onslaughts. "Frankly, Q's talents are of no relevance. We risked too much in kidnapping him to abandon him now." He picked off the last morsel of food from his plate. "In the meantime, while we train him for whatever duty he's capable of, he's going to work with you in Main Engineering, Trent."

The doctor's nose wrinkled, and though he mumbled something about worthless humans under his breath, he did not put up any further fight as he cleared the 'table'.

* * *

Q quickly found that hot, running water held a therapeutic quality. The water, rushing down from the faucet above his head, soothing his flesh and relaxing the wary muscles, calmed Q by degrees, making him temporarily forget the horrors he had witnessed on Tätanna. And aboard the _Lusiacia_, of course.

Then, as Q glanced down and saw the visual effects of his confinement, the memories flooded back and drowned him. The skin along his arms and chest were strangely creased, white and puffed up. Like open wounds, except without the blood. Repugnant human imperfections. Mortified with his mortal body's appearance, Q fiercely scratched at the deformities on one of his arms with the nails of his fingers, as if they were leaches.

Instead of removing these parasites, however, Q's skin only began to gush crimson, profusely. The shower- water collected the blood and ran it off his body, where it disappeared into the drain by his feet. Nearly hysterical, Q pressed on the open wounds, hoping to stop the flow of blood. He yelped in horror as it continued to bleed through his fingers.

The scars were a part of himself.

Scalding water still beating against his face, Q crouched in the shower as an overwhelming feeling of nausea overcame him. What was wrong with him? Memories of being beaten, torn apart by claws, violated and derided bombarded his mind. Feelings of hunger, helplessness and pain, emotions he was once incapable of understanding, now overtook him at once.

"You brought it upon yourself," the words whispered scathingly into his ear.

Q jerked around, looking for the speaker. But he was alone, left in his misery. The former entity, once omnipotent and invulnerable, now let out a human sob. Steam from the running water engulfed him in a thick, blinding fog. The heat had become unbearable, inhibiting his breathing, and Q closed his eyes.

He was unsure how long he had been lying there in the cramped shower, on the edge of unconsciousness, but he was getting quite used to that state.

"God, I'm a fucking dipshit," Shien was mumbling as he turned off the faucet, stopping the downfall of scalding water. His eyes scoured the bathroom almost frantically in search of a bath towel, a blanket, anything.

Locating a towel, the Aldreenian quickly wrapped up Q's naked, disoriented form. He half-dragged, half-carried the former entity to the next room, where he deposited him in the safety of the mercenary's own bed.

Q blinked fatigue from his eyes, attempting to focus on the figure that was pacing above him. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings, and suppressed a groan of perpetual agony as he fell back into a restless slumber.

Anxiously, Shien watched the human sleep for a moment before bursting through the door. He stood on the bridge with his arms akimbo, glaring at nothing, his features creased in frustration.

At his station, the doctor sighed as his captain kicked a discarded crate across the bridge. "May I help you?"

"Don't start with me," Shien snapped. He paused, prying off his helmet to run a hand through his scalp. "He has more baggage than I expected, that's all."

"That and he's worthless," Trent added. "We nearly had our skeletal structures handed to us by those fucking Tätarians, and we wasted five days and fuel just getting there. Though I found obliterating that entire race rewarding, it was hardly worth saving that human for, Sal." When the other failed to respond, he continued to prod. "Why did you have us go back for him, anyway?"

Shien slipped his helmet on firmly, moving to avoid the question. "We should never have sold him in the first place. No being deserves to be treated like--"

"Cut the philanthropic bullshit. I bet you just want to ransom him back to the Federation." He pulled out a small bag of white powder and distributed a pinch on his tongue, letting it sizzle.

Shien closed the distance between them to dip his hand into the bag. "He's a useful commodity, Trent. Do you know what we could do with a deity like Q?"

"Tap his ass, methinks." Noting the dirty look his captain shot him, the doctor rolled his eyes in acquiesce. "Fine, fine. I'll give the ingrate a chance...so long as you let me handle his affairs."

The other mercenary opened and closed his mouth in hesitation, fearful of the palpable animosity between both parties. "Will you be professional?"

"Cross my heart and hope to be condemned to this shithole for another ten years," the doctor promised, lifting one of his palms solemnly.

* * *

When Q awoke, he found Shien slumped in a chair next to his bed, eyes closed and mouth agape. The cramped bedroom had been artificially cast in darkness to give off the appearance of night, and it took the disoriented former entity a lingering moment to regain his sense of awareness.

Q sat up, and grimaced as he discovered that his entire right arm was numb. Having been human for three weeks and five days, he had found himself in this irritating corporal predicament before, and jiggled the arm in question vigorously until the tingling pinpricks had subsided. Instantly an overwhelming feeling of vertigo overcame him. He felt his abdomen knot, and the taste of acid in his mouth. Knowing what was coming next, the human stumbled hurriedly out of the bed and fled to the dreaded automatic waster receptacle.

Ten minutes later, Q emerged from the restroom to find Shien undisturbed, despite the audible gagging and muttering noises that had emanated five meters away. Everything was still. He suddenly realized that he was naked and hurriedly donned the nearest robe. Creeping across the room clumsily, and nearly tripping over a variety of scattered objects littering the floor in the process, the former entity exited the Aldreenian's bedroom and entered the hallway that led to the bridge.

The only lights illuminating the motionless bridge came from the respective computer stations. Q allowed a brief smirk. Quietly, taking care not to awaken any of the sleeping smugglers, the human skulked furtively to the doctor's panel and quickly glanced over the controls. He had to contact the _Enterprise_. He had been hanging on to that thought for so long since his imprisoning that it did not occur to him that the Federation had already decreed him dead.

"Damn this archaic technology," Q muttered as he glowered at the terminal. His paltry mortal brain was having difficulty deciphering the exotic mixture of Aldreenian, Klingon and Romulan symbols before him. He ran his hands over the controls, lost in thought.

Q gasped in shock as he felt another pair of hands suddenly land on top of his own.

"Gotcha!" a voice hissed from the darkness as the human yelped, recoiling.

Q narrowed his eyes as he stepped back, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest, attempting to make out the silhouette. "You!"

"Quiet down," the doctor snapped, his eyes darting to the hallway. "You'll wake the children." Once he noticed the other calm down somewhat, he went on. "So what was the curious little human up to this time of night?"

"What?" Q flailed his arms around. "I must've been sleep walking! We humans often do that...good night!"

"Nice try, dumbass." The Aldreenian caught him by his arm with a ferocious grasp. "You were trying to call the mothership, weren't you." It was not a question.

"How dare you insinuate such a thing!"

Trent pressed a button on the panel in front of him, and the lights on the bridge immediately turned on. Q mentally noted that the Aldreenian looked much different without his armor on. "Well then, it wouldn't bother you if I informed you that our communications array only has a range of five kilometers. And since it's been a week since we rescued you from those monstrosities you were stupid enough to piss off, the _Enterprise _has probably already forgotten you exist. And if you think they're even going to bother to track down this ship's energy signature, our cloak has been blocking all traces since Sal kidnapped you, you ingrate." He paused. "And by the way, don't even bother trying to take over the ship's computer. It's commanded by the fingerprints of Shien and myself, and not even your 945 IQ can outwit it."

Q felt his shoulders collapse, deflated.

"What's this?" the doctor sneered. "Is the almighty Q disappointed in something?"

Q's temper immediately flared. "Look here, you benighted little cave-dweller, I don't care if I have to float back to the _Enterprise_...I'm getting off this ship!" Fuming, he turned to walk off in a rage and nearly fell down a hole in the floor he had never noticed before.

Fortunately the other was quick enough to grab the former entity's arm and pull him away from the precipice before Q could drop into the abyss. "Whoa there! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"What is that?" Q wailed, pointing accusingly at the hole in the floor that had nearly killed him.

"Ah yes, that. That's the...storage room." Off the human's suspicious sidelong glance, he rolled his eyes. "It isn't a fucking forbidden room, Q. You're entirely welcome to go down there."

Q continued to stare at the maw in discomfiture. His curiosity was piqued, as always. But he also was afraid of, well, everything.

"Fine!" Trent exclaimed in irritation. "I'll go down there. I have to feed the cat anyway."

"Cat?" Q asked. But the doctor had already climbed down the ladder rungs leading to the basement room under his feet. The human mumbled under his breath, but the curiosity was too great, and he found himself peering down the hole with the intent of climbing down.

"It's not that far," he heard the doctor's voice echo off metal walls from down below. "You might as well just jump down."

"No thank you." Q gripped the first rung with the entire strength of his hand and propelled himself downward into the pitch darkness, afraid of falling. It took him a total of two minutes to climb down the ladder's twenty rungs, and he let out a rush of relief when he reached the comforting security of the floor.

By the time Q reached the basement, Trent had already turned on the lights and was shaking his head to himself. Stacks upon stacks of crates filled the room to its two and a half meter ceiling. The air was dank and thick with mildew, and Q could sense the vibrations from the ship's thrusters. The room's contents quivered slightly.

Q jumped as an animalistic roar surprised him. He rounded a large group of crates and found Trent murmuring soothing words to a barred cage that had been bolted to the grates. The former entity stepped back once catching sight of the creature imprisoned inside.

"It's an aumvorix," the doctor elaborated, dumping a handful of rodents into the cage's vent before closing it off. "Its pelt itself is worth a considerable amount of latinum. Isn't that right, girl?" he patronized the obviously sedated animal. A meter long with four-centimeter claws on each of its eight legs and copper fangs, it appeared to be a dangerous and valuable creature.

"How did you...?"

"Oh, a poacher was nice enough to leave it unguarded at his bunker. We usually don't deal with animal stock, but we couldn't pass it up. Was a bitch to get down here, though. We also found some of this nice Buronian pottery lying around in a temple on Ralgai V." He opened one of the top-most crates to reveal a series of ancient vases and stoneware, carelessly stacked with little protection from the ship's unsteady movements. "Beautiful, isn't it? All those centuries of history and blah, blah, blah." The doctor unceremoniously deposited the vase back into the crate without any further interest.

Q wondered what Picard would say to such a blatant disregard for ancient treasures. "Then what is it you_ normally_ deal in?"

"I was hoping you'd ask that." The Aldreenian approached a nearby crate that had been marked with red symbols. He pried open the sealed container and beckoned the timid Q to gaze inside. An uncountable amount of vials containing unknown substances filled the crate. Trent pointed to the vials. "This here is felicium. Bad stuff! We used to pick it up from a contact on Brekka and sell it to the Ornarans, but for whatever reason there isn't much of a demand for it anymore." He shrugged it off. "We also have a few crates of tropolisine, iolera root, andris, cordrazine, et cetera. Hey, how the hell did this hytritium get here?"

"You're drug smugglers!" Q exclaimed, stating the obvious.

"I prefer the term mercenary. We don't just deal in drugs. There's also some contraband weapons here somewhere, things your Federation has dubbed illegal and dangerous for prudish reasons. If it's valuable, we'll smuggle it, that's our motto." He noted the human's unimpressed look and held up his hands defensively. "Hey, getting exiled from your own planet isn't the illustrious dream the revolutionaries made it out to be. It's horrible! How the hell were we supposed to make money to feed ourselves? Assimilate into some common culture and take it up the ass from the mores and the societal rules and regulations? Hell no! That's why we left Aldreen, to get away from that shit."

Q stood still, mystified. He had never thought about it that way before. "Better a short-lived life under freedom..."

Trent paused and looked Q in the eyes. "...Than a long one toiling under an oppressive social system?" He shrugged.

Q broke the gaze angrily, feeling suddenly betrayed and indignant. "You're telepathic."

"Not quite," the doctor said. "That was the main reason why we left Aldreen." He started to pace, entrenched in his own story-telling. It was obvious that this was an issue in which he and the crew were impassioned. "At birth, each Aldreenian is forced to join minds with the council, much like Vulcan mind-melding, but by the masses. Keeps peace. Keeps the populace under control. No one can cause an unattractive uproar if there is no individuality." Trent paused to sprinkle some Yalotta spice on his tongue from his baggie, and continued, having caught Q's attention. "There had been growing unrest among certain groups. There were those who wanted gradual reform inside the system itself, and then there were the so-called 'extremists' who knew that was fucking ridiculous. So about ten years ago, the extremists scheduled a revolt. It failed miserably, of course. As punishment, we were exiled and our telepathic connection was severed. The leaders were executed, and the rest were shipped off the planet like cargo on a freighter. We all had our differing ideas on how to live our lives, so we split up. Of the two-hundred of us that were excommunicated, this crew is what's left."

"How heart-wrenchingly tragic," Q scoffed, biting a finger as if holding back tears. Part of him, however, was giving way, because...

"Oh please, Q. I know you see the parallels. Your species dumped you for the very same reasons! You can't stand conformity as much as us!"

The doctor was right. Q hated that. "And I'm paying for it! Of course I can't stand conformity! I can't stand authority, tradition, or routines for that matter." He stamped his foot petulantly to enunciate his point. "I'm bored! I'd rather roll over and die than continue with this humdrum existence of eat, sleep and excrete."

"Ha!" the doctor countered. "Then why were you gripping those rungs up there as if you were so afraid you'd die of a nasty fall? If you're so accepting of death, why haven't you committed suicide yet?"

Q glared at his hands. "I don't like pain."

"Who does? I know why you're so afraid of death. You think the Continuum is going to take you back. And the longer you're alive, the greater your chance for readmission." He nodded when Q grimaced as if he had been skewered, and dropped his voice. "You're not the only one who longs to be accepted. But as long as we resent authority, we're going to continue to be fucking ostracized. The council is not coming back for me, and it's certainly not coming back for you."

Q clenched his teeth. "Then there's nothing for me here, or anywhere."

"There's less for you in death," Trent muttered as he climbed up the rungs to return to bed. "Nothing at all."

Q stared after him thoughtfully, replaying the conversation in his mind. The thought that the Continuum would never return his powers to him and that he'd die a mortal was harrowing. But did he really want his powers back if it meant answering to those intransigent bureaucrats for the rest of his immortal life?

Even worse, to even regain his powers, he'd have to actually accept the Continuum's absolutism. He'd have to swear never again to toy with lesser races and civilizations, or harass Starfleet personnel and put them through demeaning tests. And though it stunned him to admit it to his consciousness, what was the point in being a Q if you couldn't wreck havoc? At least as a mortal, he could do whatever he damn-well pleased and not worry about getting his humanity taken away. After all, death wasn't so bad.

And reformation took effort, patience and motivation. Why bother, when he could easily rape, pillage and burn as a human and not have to submit to the consequences or waste any of his human energy? Q laughed to himself, shaking his head as he ascended the ladder to obtain his eight-hour mortal rest. He had outsmarted the Continuum once again. And it felt good.

Sitting on the pile of crates in the dank room, Ahriman slapped his forehead at the logic.

* * *

As the doctor had said, it took the crew two and a half days to reach their destination, a small colony on the outskirts of the Federation boarders. During that time, Q aided Trent in repairing the damaged engine with ease, pointing out miscalculations that the Aldreenian had overlooked. Now, only Q and the Aldreenian at the conn station remained on the ship. According to him, the ship's actual name was the _Anathema_, which made perfect sense to the human. It was apparently Klingon in design, with Romulan upgrades.

Q was grudgingly scrubbing the carbon scoring off the bridge's main wall while the other three mercenaries dropped their cargo-- Federation armaments-- to their contact on the colony. The former entity whined at how the combination of grime and soap was making his delicate hands greasy, and that the scour-pad was damaging his skin. The pilot paid little attention.

Standing up from his crouching position on the floor, Q glared out the viewport, seeing only the docking bay. "What's taking them so long, anyhow?" He had been scrubbing this wall for an hour and a half, and no one was here to appreciate it.

As if in response to his impatience, the sound of phaser-fire could be heard from outside the_ Anathema_. Through the viewport, Q caught sight of the three Aldreenians sprinting towards the craft's entry ramps, firing at the pursuing squads every few steps. The Starfleet officers puffed after them, but it was to no avail. In a matter of moments, the smugglers had boarded the ship and were crying out, "Take off! Take off!"

The pilot obligingly operated his station immediately, and the ship took off with the squad's phaser-blasts bouncing off their shields. In another minute, they had escaped the planet's atmosphere intact.

The three mercenaries crouched with their hands over their knees, panting as they tried to regain their bearings.

"Warp...8," Shien gasped, "bearing...Dessica II."

"Aye, sir," the pilot said, nodding as the other nameless mercenary took the station beside him.

The doctor pointed to Shien's foot, bracing himself as the ship lurched, going into warp. "What's wrong...with your ankle?"

Shien sunk to the floor. "I rolled it." He pried off the boot covering the ankle in question as Trent got out his medical kit. "Fuck! Goddamn Federation bastards! They think they're the policemen of the universe."

"Mhm," the doctor said, tending to his patient. "They came out of no where. But at least we got our due. Those terrorists seemed to want those Valerian weapons bad."

Q stood with his hands on his hips, frustrated at being ignored this long. "What about me? Look at the wall!"

Shien glanced up. "I had no idea our walls were white. Good job. With you around, Q, I have a feeling this place is going to look a lot more homey."

"If I wanted homey, I would've brought my mother along," Trent grumbled as he finished tending the injured ankle. He smiled as Q's face reddened in a definite mixture of anger and embarrassment.

* * *

The trip to Dessica II was long, and of course, boring. Q felt claustrophobic for the entire duration of the week, and being trapped in a cramped starship with four other mortal beings was beginning to incense the human. And it was clear the doctor and the two nameless mercenaries were beginning to lose their tolerance to his whining.

Q hated how mortal he was already beginning to act. His ship-wide routines were unbearable, and he often kept up his spirits by remembering how the Aldreenians had fired on the Federation officials who had attempted to meddle in their contraband trade. To his relief, he wasn't the only one forced to perform demeaning 'chores,' as Trent dubbed the menial labor, which included feeding the aumvorix, cooking, repairing damaged circuitry, and cleaning parts of the ship that had not been otherwise touched in ten years.

So it was of little surprise when Q nearly somersaulted down the ship's entry ramp once they reached their destination.

Q took a deep breath of the fresh air and coughed.

"I suggest you not actually breathe the atmosphere," Shien advised darkly. "Doc, you and the boys see if you can get rid of the aumvorix while Q and I search the bar for Yranac."

"Whatever," Trent said, boarding the ship again to unload the living cargo.

Shien looked Q over a moment thoughtfully.

"What are you looking at?" Q said, disgruntled whenever Shien eyed him like that.

The Aldreenian frowned slightly and adjusted the armor plates covering Q before stepping back critically. "Hmm. Q, you gained back most of the weight you lost when you were with the Tätarians, but you still look a little..." he chose his words carefully, deciding 'gangly' was not the best adjective to use. "Fragile."

"No I don't!"

"I suppose as long as you act tough, no one will be suspicious," Shien said, softening his tone.

As they left the hangar, Q caught a glimpse of Dessica's current condition. The class-M planet had once been occupied by the Romulans, but it was clear now that this was no longer the case. Filth, raw sewage and vagabonds littered the streets, and Q distantly felt as if he were on Medieval Earth.

"Yuck!" Q exclaimed as his left foot sank up to the knee in a puddle of mud. "Help! It's getting all over me!"

Shien effortlessly rescued the whimpering human from the puddle and heaved a sigh when Q violently shook his leg, carelessly flinging the mire onto him.

Wiping slime off his face, Shien pointed to a decrepit building in the distance. "That's the bar. Now our contact is a Yridian..."

"Wonderful," Q scoffed.

"Yes. He appears at first to be a harmless merchant, but he's slime. So don't try to provoke him, because he's important to our business."

Q twisted around in feigned offense. "Moi? Provoke someone? You wound me."

Shien opened the door to the bar, holding his breath as tendrils of smoke and stench slithered out and into the street.

As Q entered, he nearly went into a sensory overload, allowing the smuggler to lead him through the muddle of truculent and unconscious patrons.

"There he is," Shien directed with his chin to a small and beady-eyed being sitting alone at a table in an obscure corner of the tavern.

As they approached, the Yridian caught sight of them and made the universal hand gesture of "come here."

"Sit down, sit down!" Yranac greeted cordially. "It's good to see you again, Shien. Who's your human friend?"

The Aldreenian cast his eyes down at the sullied floor tiles, his mind racing as he noticed something. "Label...er...Abel Keynan."

"Keynan? Like the ale brand?"

Shien covered the alcohol label with his foot. "No, no, it's just a quaint coincidence. We picked him up at a Cardassian colony about two weeks ago while on a run, and he's been with our party ever since. His presence has been quite beneficial." He sat down in an attempt to change the subject, barely noticing that Q had already wandered off in a fit of inquisitiveness.

"Of course," the other agreed. "But you should keep an eye on him, he doesn't seem to be fit for your career path."

"Perhaps," Shien drawled, searching the crowd for his comrades.

"So I take it your run was successful?" Yranac asked, lowering his voice.

"Quite." Shien provided a padd and pointed to a list and tilted his head slightly as he listened to the hidden communicator in his headgear. "This is what we have for you. Fifty crates of these, another twenty of this and that as well as fifteen crates of..."

"I have no need for that much. Nine is all I require."

"You told us fifteen, and that's what we brought. If you can't follow through with your own requests..."

"Fine, fine. I'll take the fifteen crates of felicium. But the real profits now are in Yalotta, andris and raethemine."

"Well, we have several cases of andris and two crates of raethemine."

"Good, good."

"Oh, and I almost forgot. We also have six crates of artifacts of an unknown worth. But considering the effort it took to retrieve them from their owners, I'm guessing they have some value."

"I'll have my appraiser take a look at them."

At that moment, Trent, the two pilots and another Yridian circled the mess of tables and approached Shien and their employer.

"Hello, Yranac," the doctor said flatly.

"Trenton." The trader turned to address his assistant, handing him the padd with the list of merchandise. "Go load these into my ship."

The subordinate acknowledged the order and left along with the two Aldreenian mercenaries.

Yranac made an extraneous gesture and pulled out another padd. "Now allow me a moment to calculate your payment..."

Trent's brow creased as his eyes narrowed searchingly. "Hey, Shien, where's--?"

The other smuggler blanched suddenly and jumped to his feet. "Oh shit, he was here just a moment ago!" His stomach knotted. Nothing good could come of this.

As if to verify that feeling, a combination of whimpering and yelling broke through the background noise of dozens of conversations. At once, both men were shoving their way to the source of the disturbance.

"What the hell--?" the doctor gasped.

Near the bar stood two obviously disgruntled Klingons baring their teeth at the bartender and towering over a human who was curled into the fetal position at their feet.

"That's enough," The bartender, a robust Dessican with spotted skin and brow ridges, was saying. "You've taught him his lesson."

Shien knelt down beside Q and examined his state. The human was quivering with fear and covering his head in his hands, sobbing softly.

There was a prominent bruise surfacing on the side of his face and a few cuts, but nothing serious enough to warrant such a defensive action. The Aldreenian put his arms around him in an attempt to pacify him.

The two Klingons sneered at the sniveling creature. "You are right," one grunted. "There is no honor in further disciplining this worm. Perhaps next time he will think before provoking those larger than himself."

"I doubt it," Trent grumbled as the Klingons lost themselves in the crowd.

"What was that all about, Freggus?" Shien asked the bartender as he guided Q to a more dignified sitting position on one of the bar stools.

"He picked a fight with the Klingons," replied Freggus the tapster. "I didn't hear what he said, but if I hadn't stepped in he woulda been a red smear on th' floor."

Trent shook his head unsympathetically. "That sounds about right." He remembered the alias Shien had used when referring to Q in his conversation with Yranac. "Abel's only fighting talent is calling his enemies 'blighted Neanderthals'."

"How dare you take their side!" Q protested angrily, having recovered himself somewhat. "I did nothing to provoke that primitive act of brutality."

"Right."

Freggus returned to his place behind the counter, serving some new patrons although he continued to show interest in the situation. "Fer a mercenary, Shien, yer friend isn't much good at defending himself."

The doctor opened his mouth to agree, but Shien sharply cut him off. "It's unfortunate, I know." He shot Q a pointed look. "He used to be one of the greatest fighters in the Beta Quadrant until many years ago he was nearly bludgeoned to death by a Cardassian and sold into slavery. He survived, but he no longer knows who he is or how to defend himself."

The tapster leaned on the counter in surprise. "He has amnesia?"

"Yes, he does," Shien said solemnly.

"What?" Q exclaimed, not understanding the ploy. "No I--_Ow_!" He twisted as the doctor brutally pinched him in the side.

"He sure doesn't have th' build of a fighter," the Dessican noted.

Shien tossed some golden-blond hair out of his eyes. "Y'know how it is...you stop working out for a day and it all goes to shit."

Freggus grunted, and then asked, "Why the fuck don't you just re-train him, then? Dessica II has a shit-load of facilities."

"I'd pity his instructor," Trent snorted.

"It would be helpful if he could defend himself," Shien murmured thoughtfully. "We don't exactly live peaceful lives."

"And you won't allow us to dump the pussy on the nearest planet either," the doctor added bitterly. "Come to think of it, training the ingrate sounds like a good idea." It would take months of constant practice to train Q in self-defense. As a result, they would be seeing much less of him. Why hadn't he thought of this earlier?

"I want nothing to do with your barbaric rituals," Q fumed. "I'm a pacifist."

"That might work dandy in immortal fantasy land," Trent said, "but this is reality. This is where inept humans die because they can't learn to shut their fucking mouths." He turned to his leader. "I'm going to make a request."

Shien looked obliquely at him. "What?"

"Yranac is gonna pay us soon, and we'll have enough funds to live comfortably for at least five months. I suggest you stay here with Q and take him to one of the training camps for four months while me and the boys look for more work."

The other Aldreenian balked. "Are you serious?"

"It's for his own good, and ours. Maybe he'll learn some self-discipline and the ways of the mortal while he's at it."

Shien considered it for a long moment. "Q...Abel...how does this sound to you?"

"I am not cooperating in your loathsome experiment with my dignity." Q glowered, not realizing that he _never _cooperated and had lost considerable dignity in his skirmish with the Klingons.

Trent smiled. "Oh, we don't expect you to _cooperate._ Now, Captain, shall we finalize our arrangements with our boss before we go our separate ways?"

Shien nodded, following the doctor back into the fray of bodies, grabbing a disheveled and irate Q by the wrist.


	5. Chapter 5

_**-Present-**_

When the man had stood on the bar counter, Doctor Crusher had thought nothing of it.

His armor was not entirely unique, marred with scars and dents from numerous battles and brawls. Moreover, his mannerisms fit the atmosphere of a seedy tavern. But as she looked on, she found his voice and the way he held his body--flailing his arms and making wild hand gestures--vaguely familiar. The familiarity nagged at the back of her mind with a persistence she could not ignore.

Who was that man?

Beside her, Worf tensed into a battle stance, about to draw his weapon. Before she could breathe a question, there was a brief phaser-blast and the sound of dozens of gasps and muffled screams in the center of the bar. Then the feeling of a liquid spray covering the doctor's skin. The smell of it was thick, almost choking. Alcohol.

Once the initial disturbance wore off and the masses had regained a semblance of order, Crusher caught sight of the same man pushing his way through the hoard in their direction, followed closely by a younger man dressed in similar garb.

As they closed in, the dark eyes of the familiar man shifted towards the doctor, causing her to take a step back in alarm. He grinned at her.

"Nice headband, Doctor," Q purred as he grazed past her. He tipped his helmet, his eyes gleaming mischievously, and disappeared into a chamber on the far side of the bar, leaving a stunned Crusher and Worf to stare after him.

"Did you...?" Crusher started, gaping.

"That man," Worf affirmed, "was Q. Or a very good decoy."

The doctor stared thoughtfully after the door through which the mercenary had entered, then turned back to her Klingon companion. "If that was Q, then we have our first suspect in Captain Picard's disappearance."

Worf growled solemnly in agreement. "We must find Commander Riker and tell him what we've found."

On the other side of the tavern, Commander Riker heaved a heavy sigh as he questioned a belligerent Wadi about the missing captain.

"And what do I get if I tell you?" the Wadi asked contemptuously.

"I'll make sure you're justly rewarded." Riker flashed his most charming smile and fanned out numerous slips of latinum before the creature.

"Ah." The Wadi nodded in satisfaction. "Then I will be happy to tell you. Your companion, the balding fellow, was here a few weeks ago, asking suspicious questions. Had some misunderstanding with a group of mercenaries who were sitting right over there at that table, and they attacked him."

Out of the corner of his eye, Riker noticed the doctor and Worf come within audible distance. "Go on," he goaded.

"The poor motherfucker somehow managed to kick the ass of at least three of them before he was knocked down," the Wadi continued, and pointed. "He was thrown against that wall, and fell there. No wait, I was sitting over there at the time...so it must have been that wall. Yes, that's it."

Riker watched Beverly provide a tricorder and examine the area in which the man had supposedly fallen. "These mercenaries," Riker asked offhandedly. "Did one of them happen to be Abel Keynan?"

The Wadi scratched at his face. "You should take a hint from your friend and limit your bullshit questions. No, Keynan is a drugged-up merc, but relatively harmless."

Crusher looked up from her tricorder. "I'm picking up Starfleet fiber traces and human cellular debris."

The Wadi started. "Starfleet?"

"Can you establish a DNA reading?" Riker interjected.

"There's something strange here," the doctor went on. "The cell structures are badly distorted, it's as if they've been exposed to some kind of energy field."

"Yeah." the Wadi sipped his drink. "That's prolly the weapon discharge."

Riker spun. "You didn't say anything about a weapon!"

"...I'm picking up some faint traces of micro-crystalline damage in the floor material," Beverly rambled. "But I'm not familiar with the pattern I'm getting."

"Bah!" The Wadi waved a hand. "Don't rush me. I was getting to that part. So one of the mercenaries took out a weapon and fired. Your friend was vaporized, dead in an instant. Took three days for the stench to come out. If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure the searing pain was brief."

Riker felt the blood drain from his face. Instantly, he looked to Troi for confirmation, dread in the pit of his stomach.

Troi turned to him, distraught. "He's telling the truth."

"I'm sorry to be the bringer of bad news," the Wadi interrupted insincerely. "Do I get my reward now?"

"Who were the mercenaries?" Riker snapped, his mind whirling from the information. Picard, dead? Here? It was a reality he was unable to face.

"Goddamn, are you not done yet? All I know is that they had been operating in this sector fer six months or so. Don't you dare ask me for what reason. One of 'em said something about some kind of Debrune outpost or something. Whatever that is."

Doctor Crusher pocketed her tricorder. "Commander, it will take me at least an hour to identify this DNA reading through the distortion."

The commander nodded sharply and handed their informant ten slips of latinum. Before the Wadi could protest, he guided the others into the crowd. "Now, to find Q."

"Will," Troi began, the new information causing her voice to quiver slightly. "I dislike Q as much as you, but I don't think he was responsible for this."

"I'm sure he's not _directly _responsible, Deanna. But if he has any affiliation with this mercenary group, he isn't leaving Dessica II without an escort."

* * *

"Dagoth? Willing to offer us triple?" Q exclaimed incredulously as they entered the room behind the bar. Hardly anyone ever ventured this far into these dank recesses, which rendered excessively illicit activities safe from even the prying eyes of the criminals that made up the tavern's regular customers.

"Mhmm," Shien murmured from beside the former entity. "I had the distinct impression he was desperate to see you...and the offer sounded almost too good to be true."

Q brushed it off and smirked down at his lover as they approached the airlock. "I always had the nagging impression Dagoth dislikes me."

"Ferengi have that kind of aura."

The doors parted, and the two smugglers entered a bright room containing an elaborate circular table with matching chairs, a private bar, and a sparse rug. Several crates made distinct columns around the compact enclosure, suffocating and claustrophobic as a labyrinth.

Three Ferengi instantly stood. One wore illustrious velvet robes that offset his crude and severe appearance. His glare immediately fixed on Q.

"Ah, Dagoth, my good man! You look so pleased to see me!" Q squealed in jubilation, knowing what pain the shrill pitch of his voice would bring to delicate Ferengi lobes.

"Keynan." The robed figure spat the name as if he felt a headache immanent. "You're late again, human. That is no way to treat your future employer."

"Well, you know us humans...terrible sense of timing!" The former entity glanced about the room a moment before his eyes lit up. "Is this it?"

"The first shipment, at least."

Abel snickered to himself, unable to contain his giddiness as he rubbed his hands together and stared at the sealed crates in front of him. "May I?"

Dagoth restrained the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course. They're your design." He made a gesture and one of the Ferengi guards entered a security code onto a crate's padd, unlocking it.

Shien opened the unsealed container and raised a brow at Q's gasp.

The human carefully pried a blister-shaped object out of the crate and held it in the palm of his hand in amazement. "I don't believe it. You dipshit mortals actually created an anti-matter cluster bomb."

"Because of your specifications, of course," Dagoth added flippantly, fingering the folds of his robes, his eyes never leaving the human.

Abel exchanged a grin with Shien, moving to embrace him in his excitement. "Do you realize how fuckin' rich this will make us?"

"Us?" Dagoth leered.

Q's eyes flashed to the Ferengi and narrowed. "Oh?"

"There is no 'us,' my dear Abel. Granted, you supplied the ideas and the knowledge, but I procured the labor and only_ I _will reap the fortunes of your lucrative creation."

Q returned the weapon to the crate in time to notice the two guards change positions, with one dangerously close behind a perplexed Shien. Q allowed his brow to fray. "Yer cutting me out?"

"I always knew you were the most intelligent of your race," Dagoth sneered, making another extraneous gesture. "Too bad I cannot afford to keep such...competition."

Q attempted to stall for time while he came up with a feasible alternative to death. It was likely that Trent was listening to all of this now, but he was on the other side of the planet. His only contribution to the fight would be mopping up their remains.

"How could you double-cross me like this, Dagoth?" Abel managed with a dramatic clench of his fists, though in truth he was not at all surprised by the Ferengi's deceptive actions. "I thought we were friends!"

"Friends? You abandoned my crew on a mining colony and left us for dead for twenty crates of Cronanium ore!"

"I can't believe yer still whining about that." Q moved into a defensive position as one of the Ferengi lurched at him with a dagger. "Knives? Are you fuckin' kidding me? Why didn't you just sic yer goons after me with goddamn brass knuckles?"

"Abel!" he heard Shien's voice crying out in surprise.

Q spun and saw that the other Ferengi, with dagger extended, was grappling the Aldreenian to the floor. Their bodies were lost in a confusion of movement.

Feeling his blood congeal, Abel turned back around to easily sidestep his own adversary's attack. The Ferengi lost his balance, caught himself, and lunged for another jab at Q's midsection.

"As the thirty-ninth rule of accusation goes," Dagoth was saying as he stroked one of the crates fondly. "Friendship is temporary, but profit is forever."

Q caught his opponent in a wristlock, and the Ferengi was immediately forced to drop the dagger from the incapacitated hand as Q twisted his wrist and brutally wrenched his shoulder out of its socket. As the Ferengi was writhing in pain and consoling his wounded arm, Abel dealt him a swift punch to the face that leveled him to the floor.

With one foot firmly over the prone Ferengi, Q pulled out his phaser and trained it on Dagoth, who was moving to contact his ship. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now for tryin' to take advantage of my good faith. And make it quick...I'm impatient."

The robed Ferengi froze in shock. "What kind of imbecile are you? If you hit one of those crates by mistake--"

"Death doesn't frighten me nearly as much as the notion of your gnomish hands on my merchandise!" Abel retorted coldly.

"I--we can make a deal out of this," Dagoth rambled nervously, scratching the small of his back. "We can reach an agreement. Put the phaser down...we can talk this over...we'll divide the profit and, ah...we'll both be very rich..." Suddenly, he pulled out his own disruptor and fired it directly at the human.

Q tumbled out of range of the beam, which narrowly missed hitting one of the crates.

"And you call me an imbecile?" Q snorted, righting himself into a crouch and returning fire. Dagoth let out a stifled yelp of alarm before toppling to the ground.

The Ferengi that had been fighting Shien whirled to retrieve his own energy weapon only to be killed by a second phaser blast.

"Keynan's rule number two-million-thirty-seven," Q announced airily to the lifeless form of Dagoth. "If you're going to backstab a business partner, at least make sure you have superior weaponry." Once satisfied that the Ferengi was indeed dead, he spoke directly into his headset. "Are you there, Trent?"

"Yeah," the doctor's tired voice came in. "I expect you killed Dagoth. What do you want?"

"I want you to transport these crates that I've marked to the _Anathema's_ hold. What the hell is making that gurgling noise?"

"I'll give it a try...it'll take about a minute."

Q watched with a content smile as the crates were slowly beamed away. "That was a close one there, wasn't it, Sal?" When he only heard muffled gurgling in response, he froze. "Sal?"

He immediately found the Aldreenian face-first in a pool of his own blood, unmoving. Kneeling down and mentally begging his hands to stop trembling, Q grabbed his lover by the shoulder and gently pulled him to his side. "Sal!"

The dagger lay wedged to the hilt in Shien's lower back where there was no armor protection, with the tip protruding at an angle through his abdomen. His body jolted and he coughed blood onto the floor.

Q shivered and put his hand over the open wound, unsure whether or not to remove the blade. He called Shien's name to gain his attention, but the Aldreenian failed to respond. Q noticed his skin was changing colors and that he was breathing erratically as if he were asphyxiated.

Overcome with panic, Q frantically stumbled out of the room to find help.

Hands bloodied, he did not get far before he ran headfirst into Commander Riker.

"What the--?" Riker exclaimed, holding Q by the shoulders. He stopped long enough to examine the blood covering Q's body and the paleness of his skin to change his tone. "Q, what the hell happened?"

"He's frightened, Will," Troi said, moving to support the delirious human. He appeared ready to faint.

"I can tell."

"Are you injured, Q?" Crusher asked, tricorder in hand.

"Shien," Q whispered. "He's..." He pointed to a set of doors hysterically. "Go, goddammit!"

The doctor was already on her way. The others followed quickly behind, with Worf and Troi helping to keep Q from blacking out.

"He's stopped breathing," Crusher was saying, her tricorder extended over Shien's body. "We need to bring him to the _Enterprise _immediately. This dagger has been poisoned, and he'll need the antidote before his wound can be healed."

"Aren't there medical facilities on the planet?" Riker started somewhat reluctantly.

"There are," Q agreed hurriedly.

"He needs _immediate medical attention_!" Crusher keyed her combadge.

Both men exchanged wary glances, in no position to protest.

* * *

"Acting Captain's log, Stardate 47135.2. Doctor Crusher has positively identified Captain Picard's DNA. There is no doubt now that he is dead."

* * *

Troi watched Abel pace anxiously across sickbay, the same place where three years earlier he had watched Data recover after his attack from the Calamarain. She remembered the Q who had worried about himself with 'selfish preoccupation,' as Captain Picard had called it, and how more..._matured_ the former entity appeared now.

Captain Picard.

Troi brushed tears from her eyes and hurried out of sickbay, unable to further bear the emotions of sorrow and anger emanating from the crew.

"Tell me again," Trent said. "Why the hell are we letting the goddamn Federation heal our wounded when I'm a perfectly competent doctor?" He watched the medical technicians swarm around Shien's body. When he caught Q's dirty look, he pressed on. "You know, once he's better, they're just going to toss us in the brig and the only time you two will see each other again will be at your executions."

Q snorted. "Luckily for us, the Federation opposes capital punishment."

"Shouldn't have bothered," the doctor muttered. "He's the least important one anyway, _Capt--_"

Halfway through the last word, Q's arm swung out and ferociously backhanded the doctor in the face. Trent shut up and held the left side of his face, knowing there would be a red mark there for the rest of the day. Karne recoiled slightly, but said nothing as usual.

"Go to the ship and stay there until I call for you," Q said, still staring at Shien's lifeless form on the biobed. Wordlessly, the two Aldreenians left sickbay. Everything was quiet for a long moment until he felt a body loom from behind, and his nose wrinkled with a mixture of distaste and extreme irritation. "What the hell do you want, Microbrain?" He spun. "Want to throw me in the brig again? How positively nostalgic. I dare you to make the attempt this time."

Worf did not rise to the bait. He never did, really.

"You have a warrior's gait," Worf said.

Q stared at him for a long moment. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"And the way you handled your subordinates is commendable as well."

"I--" The human hesitated, then allowed a suspicious smile. "Well, yes I do have them wrapped around my finger. You should have seen me handle the Ferengi..." He suddenly trailed off.

"And what was the cause of your brawl with the Ferengi?"

Q forced himself to act aloof. "You know how Ferengi are. You abandon them on a mining colony and they take it personally."

Before Worf could make any further unpleasant inquiries about the subject, a nurse approached and touched Q's arm gently. "Mister Keynan, his condition has stabilized and he is able to accept visitors now."

Q shot the Klingon a smirk over his shoulder before turning away and following the officer to Shien's biobed where he lay unconscious and unarmored, with monitors constantly surveying his vital signs. The Aldreenian's face was virtually unreadable, registering neither pain nor comfort. The former entity reached out and grasped a golden lock of Shien's hair and twirled it around one of his fingers absently. He had calmed down since the incident on Dessica II. In fact, his lover's current state was no longer a chief concern in his mind. Instead, he found his mind drifting towards Picard.

"He should be fully recovered within the week," Doctor Crusher's voice interrupted the smuggler's thoughts. "The dagger itself did minimal damage to his organs, but the compound it was laced with bound to his acetylocholine receptors and inhibited his respiratory system by disrupting the impulses of the phrenic nerve and, as a result, froze his diaphragm in a contracted state. Fortunately, he received medical treatment in time for us to successfully purge the compound from his system and return the release of ACh back to normal."

"When will he be able to leave sickbay?"

"In a few days, Q. But I want to keep an eye on him for a while."

He released the lock of hair he was holding and turned towards the doctor, who appeared ill at ease. "Well then, Bev, it's been lovely seeing you again, but I really am busy..."

"First things first," Crusher began, moving towards an empty biobed and pulling out her tricorder.

Q straightened, a scowl creasing his features. He held up a threatening finger. "Don't for one minute think I'm about to get under your microscope again, woman."

"Q, it's common Federation procedure that newcomers undergo a simple health screening. It's for your own good, but mostly for the good of the rest of us."

"Of course. I could be_ diseased_."

"Now, if you prefer, you can disrobe and put something else on for this." When she noticed his startled look of intrigue, she quickly elaborated. "Your armor is covered in blood, Q."

Q glanced down. "Oh, so it is." His gloves, bracers, cuirass and even greaves were crusted over with a sanguine ooze.

"I can fit you with a change of clothes while they're being cleaned..."

"Hardly. I fully remember what the Federation's twisted interpretation of clothing consists of."

"Thankfully for you," Crusher said, struggling to keep her patience. "We have developed a wider selection since you were here." She recovered a padd consisting of a long list, and turned it over to him.

With padd in hand, Q ambled over to the changing area and momentarily returned to the biobed, wearing only a pair of black slacks and his boots.

"How do I look?" He winked impishly, placing his hands firmly on his hips and peering over his shoulder in a seducing pose.

Crusher focused her attention on her tricorder, pretending not to notice as Q continued to preen in front of her. She only dared to take a glimpse while scanning him and immediately tried to hold back her surprise. He had taken off his helmet, and without it she observed that his hair in fact was only inches from touching his shoulders. His dark mane lay in filthy thick strands due to lack of washing. As a whole, it gave him the appearance of being ten years younger, in his mid thirties, since it covered his receding hairline.

"How is the back trauma? I remember you were having muscle spasms your first day as a human."

He rubbed the muscles around his lower spine thoughtfully. "They're becoming less frequent. I think it has something to do with exercising."

"That would do it." She continued to scan him with her tricorder. "Weak abdominal and back muscles often cause unneeded discomfort."

"Well, what's the prognosis?" Q asked impatiently as he sat on the biobed and combed his hair with his fingers.

When she spoke, her voice was a mixture of concern and suspicion. "Q, you have an extremely elevated level of foreign toxins in your bloodstream."

"Oh, that's nothing to worry about," Q responded hastily with a dismissive wave of the hand.

"You have approximately seven grams of pure Yalotta spice running through your system." She paused. "That's enough to render a normal man of your size comatose for two to three weeks."

"I'm not a normal man, remember?" Q chose to omit the fact that he usually needed nine grams constantly in his bloodstream to function without losing his mind. "I wonder how those toxins possibly could have gotten there."

"This is not a joking matter, Q. Any addiction, especially yours, can have serious ramifications on your health. Your body is not capable of filtering such high levels of toxins..."

"It's just a minor habit."

Crusher looked at him blandly. "Your arm is trembling, Q."

Q glared down at the offending appendage, which was shaking on its own accord. He grabbed it with the other hand and folded both arms in front of his chest, stifling the treacherous arm and failing to appear aloof.

"I found the same substance, in a much smaller dose, in your friend too." She nodded to Shien, then added carefully, "you know Yalotta spice is illegal under Federation law, right?"

"No shit?" Q rolled his eyes. "What the hell do you think I smuggle, woman? Soap?"

"All I'm saying is that it's illegal for a reason. If you're having withdrawal symptoms, I can give you a hypospray, then slowly wean you off the drug." She quickly changed the subject. "Other than that, and a similarly elevated blood alcohol level, you're relatively healthy."

"Lovely." He slid off the biobed and moved to leave.

"Hold on," Crusher stopped him by grabbing his left arm by the wrist. "What's this?"

"What's what?"

"This." She pointed to a design two inches in circumference that was branded on the inside of his forearm. It was a symbol she was unable to recognize, a marking that had permanently altered the color of the skin cells. Current technology had rendered tattooing a painless procedure, but it was obvious that Q's own tattoo was made by mixture of needles containing indelible ink and extreme heat, an ancient art that had gone virtually extinct in the Federation. Only small factions performed such barbaric body alterations. Before she realized what she was saying, the words were already out. "That must have been excruciating."

Q stared at her darkly, sending a cold shiver down the doctor's spine. Without breaking eye contact he slipped his arm out of her grip and turned away. "I see Picard hired you for your keen eye, Doctor."

Crusher flinched slightly at the mention of the captain's name. She then noticed that he had many scars running over his body, worse than the one on his nose. Before she could say anything, however, Riker, Troi and Data entered sickbay.

Riker appeared to pause a moment once seeing Q out of his armor for the first time, then addressed Crusher. "How is Shien's condition?"

"He's stabilized. He should be able to leave sickbay in a few days." She then moved away to assist another patient.

Nodding, the commander returned his attention to Q, who was of course the true reason he was there. "I have some questions to ask you, Q."

"I'd very much appreciate it if you stopped fucking calling me 'Q'!" the former entity barked sharply. "The goddamn Continuum left me for dead three years ago, remember, you obtuse Federation whore? I'm not Q, in any shape or form!"

Riker frowned and took a step back at the sudden outburst, making a sidelong glance at Troi.

Without his helmet on, Troi was able to read the smuggler's feelings-- extreme frustration and paranoia, none of which surprised her.

Immediately upon realizing his overreaction on account of his withdrawal, Abel took a deep breath.

"If that's what you want," the councilor said gently. "We'll refer to you as Abel from now on."

"Wonderful. Perfect. So, how may I be of service?" Abel asked, extending his hands.

Riker immediately got down to business. "The man who witnessed Captain Picard's death informed us that the mercenaries responsible mentioned something about the Debrune." He noticed Q react to the name. "You've heard of them?"

"Heard of them?" The former entity snorted at the question. "My dear Riker, I was a bystander to the Debrune's last five stages of evolution. They were hideous, trivial creatures. Offshoot of the Romulans, actually." The beginnings of a distant smile crossed his lips as he remembered. "Not very fun to play with, either."

"From what we know of the nearby systems," Data interjected. "The closest Debrune outpost is on Barradas III."

"That's great, Data. But if you haven't noticed, the Debrune have been extinct for over two thousand years." Abel turned back to Riker. "I don't see how any of this is supposed to help Captain Picard."

"This could be the lead that directs us to the location of those mercenaries who murdered the captain in that bar fight," the commander replied with some impatience.

Q rubbed his temples. "If they were talking about the Debrune, your mercenaries are probably in the artifact trade, the looting of ruins."

Riker perked at this snippet of information. "Do you--?"

"There must be at least a hundred artifact traders who frequent that bar," Abel muttered. "You're wasting your time. And even if you did find them, what the hell would you do? Torture them? Beat their asses?"

Troi frowned.

"Someone has to be held responsible for the captain's death," Riker said defensively.

"I doubt Picard would approve of your simple-minded desire for revenge."

"This is not about revenge! This is about _justice_."

"Okay, Ahab."

"The captain died in a bar fight for nothing. Somebody has to answer for that." He paused. "You of all people should understand that."

Q stared at him, and Riker realized while looking in his eyes that Q in fact did not understand the concept of revenge. Something about having been forced to come to terms with his own mortality over the course of three years, after being omnipotent for thousands of millennia, had made him apathetic to death.

"You're wasting your time. Picard is dead. _Dead_. He's not in your pathetic interpretation of heaven. He's fucking gone and he's never coming back. And we'll all be joining him soon. You're in command now, Captain Riker."

Riker stood taken aback by the other's pessimism. Troi, however, found something out of place with Q's response to Riker's need for revenge.

Troi turned to look Q in the eyes. "Abel, have you encountered Captain Picard since you were kidnapped?"

Q suddenly stiffened. "No..."

"I'm not empathic," Riker said, "and even I can tell that's a lie." Lying was never one of Q's better talents. He noticed Beverly, Data and Troi await the smuggler's reply.

Q glowered. "What the hell does it matter?"

"It matters a lot," Riker shot back. "When did you see the captain?"

"I don't know. About a week after the Borg attack, on Earth, I suppose."

Riker paused to remember the events that had transpired. The Enterprise had been undergoing repairs, and Picard had left on shore leave to visit family. "You met him in France? He made no mention of encountering you to any of us."

Q sighed in exasperation, his tone patronizing. He could really use a fix right now. "Maybe that's because he never met Q. I'm sure he mentioned my name in his personal logs. You might as well look through them, I doubt he'd mind."

The commander found himself wondering what he and the captain had done together on Earth, but forced the thought from his mind.

"Now, if you'd be so kind," Abel went on. "I'd like some quarters until my companion is healed."

Riker nodded and gestured offhandedly to the android. "Data, would you please show our guest some quarters?"

"Yes, sir." Data glanced to the smuggler. "If you'd follow me."

Riker keyed his communicator. "Mister Worf, set a course for the Barradas system, warp six."

Once they had exited, with Q cradling his cleaned armor, Riker examined the doors thoughtfully for a moment before addressing the councilor. "What was that about?"

"You mean his outburst?"

"He was uncharacteristically intemperate, even for Q."

"I can answer that," Crusher joined in. "In his bio-scan, I found toxic levels of Yalotta spice in his system. Except, Q is so addicted to the compound that he has developed a tolerance for it."

Troi nodded reflectively. "I saw him crumble some sort of substance into his drink, down at the tavern on Dessica II."

"That could be it, Yalotta spice is usually diluted in liquids."

Riker frowned. "Yalotta spice?"

Crusher approached a panel, bringing up a series of diagrams. "It's an ancient opiate of unknown origin, but it's produced virtually all over the galaxy, and very popular for its combined potency and commercial value. When taken orally, it can produce euphoria...a rush and feeling of warm, suffusing ecstasy immediately following consumption. Emotional control is lost, judgment and concentration are impaired, and the muscles relax. Worries and fears are shed, and the drug instantly makes the user feel invulnerable and self-confident."

"Emotions Q wouldn't have otherwise felt during his first years as a human." Troi noted.

"Which was probably its most alluring feature. That, and he's been constantly surrounded by it in his...work environment. After the initial effects of the narcotic wear off, withdrawal symptoms can begin to manifest after only ten hours, including uncontrollable muscle twitching, excessive flushing and sweating, rise in heart rate and blood pressure, inability to sleep, paranoia, and erratic behavior. Abrupt termination can cause delirium, convulsions and a paranoid breakdown and terrifying hallucinations."

"Well, we'll have to monitor him closely then," Riker said, moving to go. "Though I wouldn't put it past him to have already snuck a considerable amount onto the _Enterprise_. Thank you, Doctor."

* * *

As Riker entered the bridge from the lift, about to take his seat, Worf caught his attention. "Commander, we are receiving a transmission from Admiral Chekote at Starbase 227."

"I'll take it in the ready room."

"Aye sir."

Riker settled himself at Picard's former desk and activated the console. The admiral's face appeared on the screen before him. "Sir?"

"I read your report, Commander," Chekote began. "My condolences to you and your crew. Captain Picard's death is a loss to the entire Federation." With that out of the way, he continued, tackling the reason Riker was requesting to postpone their current mission.

"I have a request, sir. I would like to conduct an investigation into Captain Picard's death."

"The Dessican Authorities have jurisdiction of this case, Commander."

"I know that, sir. Frankly, I do not have much confidence in the authorities on Dessica II. There's every reason to believe that they're corrupt."

The other shrugged it off. "I suspect you're right. The question remains, are you the one to assume this?"

"The captain's death hit me pretty hard," Riker said, appealing to his superior's sense of sympathy. "And I may not be completely objective, but there's no one who is more determined. I won't rest until I find out who's responsible."

"All right, Commander. I'm officially placing the Enterprise on detached duty. Your mission is at your discretion. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir." Riker switched off the console and sat reflectively staring forward at the blank screen. Perhaps Q was right, and he was wasting his time attempting to avenge the captain's death. But some kind of hidden hope deep in his subconscious urged him forward, told him that Picard was still alive. After all these years risking his life repeatedly, it could not have been that simple to defeat the captain. He lifted his hand over the console again, hesitated, and turned it back on.

Pushing away the feeling of guilt for what he was about to do, Riker delved into Picard's personal logs, accessing the files created a week after the Borg had transformed him into Locutus. He wondered if Picard held any resentment towards Q, seeing how the former entity was indirectly responsible for his abduction by the Borg. As Riker opened the file and heard the captain's voice, he felt a gloom overtake him.

Picard spoke of his nightmares becoming less frequent, and of meeting his brother Robert, who he had a series of squabbles with, and his family on Earth. Then, with a fondness Riker would not have expected, Picard described meeting a man in the family vineyard who was "extraordinarily helpful" in relieving his trauma with the Borg. Riker found it strange that the captain only referred to Q by his alias and didn't go into further detail about the encounter. He searched other files for another mention of Abel Keynan, but no others appeared.

Unsatisfied, Riker switched off the terminal and exited his ready room.

* * *

"Riker's a fool," Q mumbled as he followed Data down a long corridor towards his quarters.

"I have found," the android replied almost thoughtfully, "that humans often act on impulse for the sake of righting a perceived wrong."

The smuggler looked sidelong at his companion. "If there's anything I've learned in my insignificant years as a human, Data, it's that impulse is a poison to mortals." His train of thought soured. "Impulse is what brought me here."

"Perhaps, but many humans argue that impulse adds..." he tilted his head. "Excitement to life."

"You can't believe that."

"I do not know. I am not capable of feeling either impulse or excitement. Here are your quarters, sir."

Q stepped through the doors, dumped his heavy armor on the bed, and turned around. "I can't believe he's dead."

"Denial is a very normal part of grieving."

"Somehow, I can still feel him." The Enterprise radiated Picard's essence. Stored memories, fond and otherwise, flooded over the human's consciousness. "Funny. I figured I'd be the first one to go." After all, he had picked enough bar fights in the past to kill at least twenty men. "Have you ever thought about death, android?"

"On many occasions, yes. But I suspect death for a human being is much different than the loss of impulses in a positronic net."

"It isn't."

"Curious. Perhaps you can expl--"

Q waved it off. "Later. You can go now, Data." Once the doors had hissed shut behind the android, Q pulled off one of his boots and shook it upside down until a bag surrounded by a thick, black material dropped obediently into his hand. The material was capable of blocking most scanners and tricorders and was virtually undetectable. He was about to remove this protective layer when a thought occurred to him.

Moving to the computer terminal, he sent a hail to the _Anathema_.

In less than a minute, the face of Trent appeared on the screen. "You rang, your lordship? This better be a closed channel."

"It is. Now listen. The _Enterprise_ is en route to the Barradas system, currently at warp six."

"What?"

"I need you to ditch those crates somewhere and meet me there. If the Federation catches us with even one cluster bomb, we'll be spending the rest of our precious lives on forced labor camps. Sell them, hide them, use a populated planet as target practice for all I care. Just get rid of them."

"Got it." He made a calculation. "I should be in the Barradas system five hours before the Enterprise. By the way, Keenie, you look like crap. When was the last time you got a fix?"

"Thirteen hours."

The doctor winced. "Do you have enough to last until you reach the system?"

Q wiped his forehead. "Barely."

"Is Shien still alive?"

"Barely."

"Go get your fix. I'll keep you up to date on our progress. Anathema out." The screen went dark.

Q stood and returned to the bed. Sitting down, he unwrapped the bag from its protective casing and analyzed his inventory. Fifteen cubes, two grams each. He separated three cubes and held them in his hand, deciding whether or not to dilute them in water, considering the replicator only produced synthehol. With his free hand, he rubbed at his temples, overcome by the sensation of something scratching at his brain.

In one swift motion, Q threw the cubes directly into his mouth and laid on the bed to let them dissolve. He cringed as his taste buds were instantly assaulted with an extremely sour flavor that numbed the entirety of his tongue. Diluted, Yalotta spice was tasteless, but alone it was unbearable.

Q quickly swallowed the slushy product and sighed as his headache disappeared and a familiar warmth passed over his whole body, relaxing every muscle. His mind's inner fear of overdosing again, of slipping unnoticeably into a coma and dying, instantly dissipated. The ceiling blurred, and the room appeared to be made of water. For a long time, he was unable to move as his limbs had gone heavy. His emotions changed randomly-- one moment he burst out laughing and the next he could barely hold back tears.

Then, as was customary when the spice was consumed directly, he felt the aphrodisiacal effects of the drug.

Breathing hard, Q sat up and undid the fastenings of his pants. Vaguely, he remembered having once found this base act disgusting and perverted. He smirked slightly, lost in a haze. Whatever. He moaned to himself as he freed his erection and stroked himself with wild anticipation. Throwing himself back onto the bed, he continued to thrust into his hand until he brought himself to climax. With this finished, he slowly stumbled to the restroom to clean himself off, and returned his cock back into his pants.

Leaning his back against a wall, Q slid onto the floor. He smiled dully and wondered absently what the Continuum must have thought of his condition. Giggling, he gazed out the viewport at the stars, knowing they were watching him. At that moment, he did not care.

"Computer," he slurred. "Put some music on...no, something harder, with more of a beat...yeah...there you go." Woozily, he stood and teetered for a moment before staggering towards the replicator. He ordered a sandwich and promptly ate the majority of it, and, plagued with a sudden thirst, drank half a fifth of some kind of synthehol as if it were water.

Slowly, Q made his way back to the restroom and stripped off his clothes, not realizing or caring he was still only wearing one boot. Turning the shower to its coldest setting, he drenched himself in freezing water, squealed when it hit his skin, and soaped himself up, having not showered in several days. He barely noticed that he slipped and fell more than usual.

With the shower completed and the initial high beginning to wear off, the smuggler dried himself off and donned his armor. Once this was completed, he sat down and enjoyed the rest of the ride for the next three hours, waiting until the haze wore off enough so he could be seen in public.

Lazily, he wrapped the bag in its protective covering and hid it back in his boot. He then asked the computer the locations of each member of the crew who would undoubtedly recognize him, and made a mental note to avoid those places.

Gathering his wits together as best he could, Q ambled out of his quarters, keeping his senses trained for senior officers. The majority of people he passed down the corridor did not give him a second look, and those who frowned did so merely out of curiosity about his Spartan-like armor.

He entered a turbolift and sighed in relief. "Deck ten." The lift whirled to life, transporting him to his destination. Finally, he arrived to Ten-Forward and slid inside without a second thought.

As Q took in his surroundings, his eyes quickly flicked over to the bar, and found himself unable to identify either the tender or the patrons. The shifts had just changed, so there was a moderate amount of mortals present, socializing and drinking away their worries. The perfect time for some lighthearted grifting. Q made his way through the maze of tables, ordered a drink from one of the attendants, and stood next to a pair gambling over a game of multi-level chess.

One of the players, a young man out of uniform, glanced up and made a welcoming gesture. "Would you like to play the winner?"

Abel grinned and took a seat. "I'd be delighted. How do you play?"

After two hours of continuous play, Q eventually amassed a small fortune at the expense of his adversaries, who were too perplexed about how the man had won twelve straight games to notice they had lost considerable amounts of latinum. And, as is common when one is on a winning streak, a crowd had gathered to watch.

With many latinum slips piled before him, Q was too engaged in his current game to notice Riker enter the lounge.

Standing at the bar, the acting captain peered across the room and turned to an officer seated near him. "What the hell is going on over there, lieutenant?"

"There? Oh, I don't know what his name is, but he's won twelve..." He paused as the sound of clapping and muffled cursing erupted briefly. "Make that thirteen games of three-dimensional chess. Amazing."

"Who--?" Riker swayed side to side to get a better vantage point. When he caught sight of the man in question, however, he sat down. "Figures."

"If I were you, Commander, I would break it up before your passengers' life savings are bled dry," a new voice interrupted.

"I thought you would have thrown Q out yourself by now, Guinan," Riker said as he watched the perspiration forming on his glass. "Especially considering the...nature of your relationship with him."

Guinan nodded as she refilled someone's drink. "Maybe in the past. But you forget that we're no longer dealing with Q."

"It doesn't matter what you call him, he's still--"

"In some ways, yes," Guinan conceded. "But his appearance is not all that has changed. Q has matured significantly...probably more than any of us would have expected of him. He has come to terms with his mortality better than most naturally born humans. And as a result, he takes life extremely seriously. That is what makes him more dangerous. While the Q we once knew was childish and selfish, Abel Keynan no longer possesses that childlike innocence, and his morals are skewed."

Riker stared. "You got all that just by watching him?"

"Rumors spread quickly around here." She smiled slightly. "And I was talking to Councilor Troi."

He looked over his shoulder. Q was now having a conversation with another man, who was pointing to the pile of latinum as if he were making another bet. An agreement was made. They sized each other up as if about to brawl, but instead cleared a tabletop, grasped hands, sat down, and after the crowd's countdown, proceeded to arm wrestle.

"All I'm suggesting is that you keep an eye on him," Guinan added. "He did, after all, kill two Ferengi on Dessica II."

"One of them was distributing illegal arms to warring factions. But you have nothing to worry about. I'm the last person who is in danger of trusting Q."

"That's a relief. Don't forget the five hundred people who lost their lives on Starbase 138 because of him."

"I won't. Believe me, once this mission is over, Abel Keynan will get the trial he deserves. And he's going to be on the receiving end, this time."

Finding this ultimatum satisfactory, Guinan directed her attention to other patrons without another word.

His eyes darted back to the fray as he heard flesh thump against glass, and saw Keynan throw his arms in the air in victory as the crowd clapped with amusement. Q mock-bowed, enjoying being the center of attention, as usual. After a moment of hesitation, Riker moved from his stool and carried his drink towards the action.

"Thank you, thank you," Abel was saying as he gathered numerous Federation credits and latinum strips into his arms. "But I really must go..."

Riker stood behind Q, watching the back of his head as he continued to greedily scoop his winnings together. "I see you did pretty well for yourself. Especially considering this isn't a casino."

The smuggler turned around and flashed the commander a grin that always made him uneasy. "Ah, _mon petit capitaine_!"

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?"

Riker sighed. "Abel, I think it would be a good idea if you stayed in your quarters until we reach the Barradas system."

Q's head jerked up, his face a mask of surprise. "What? You're grounding me to my quarters because I gambled on a few games of chess? What's next? Getting whipped for dancing?"

"The last thing we need is for you to draw attention to yourself and have someone recognize you."

"I assure you, Commander," Abel stood abruptly, drawing himself up to his full height, "I'm wholly capable of taking care of myself."

Riker wished absently that Picard was here to deal with this. "I'm sure. But frankly, I'm more concerned about you harming my crew--"

"Than them mob-rushing me with pitchforks and torches?" His lips curled in a self-deprecating smile. "Wouldn't be the first time." He brushed past the commander without a second glance, his arms full.

Riker's brow frayed. "Where are you going?"

Q turned around, not breaking stride. "My quarters, of course. I have counting to do."

* * *

Riker's power trip was short lived, as expected, and he at last agreed to allow Q to leave his quarters to exercise on the holodeck as long as he avoided large crowds.

On his third day aboard the Enterprise, Q was returning to his quarters from an exhausting simulation, a towel wrapped over his shoulders, when he saw a familiar figure sprawled on his bed, turned away from the door.

Abel stopped in the foyer and smirked impishly. He picked up a nearby vase and dropped it on the floor, letting it shatter.

Shien levitated from the bed and spun in bewilderment. His entire body relaxed upon catching sight of Q.

"Doctor Crusher finally released you from her laboratory?" Abel queried, kissing the other on the forehead reflexively before toweling the sweat off his hair.

The Aldreenian smiled. "I'm just about fully recovered...but my abdomen hurts like hell. I have to thank you for saving my life, again."

"Mm."

"Uhm, why are we still on the _Enterprise_?"

Q filled his companion in as best he could on their current mission, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

Shien balked. "Captain Picard is dead?" When the other said nothing, he remembered something. "Oh. Doc left a message for you."

Moving to the terminal, Q accessed the message, then hailed the _Anathema_.

"Took you long enough," Trent grumbled, heaving a sigh. "I'm about ten light-years from the Barradas system. About an hour and a half ago, I got a transmission from you-wouldn't-guess who."

"Well?" Q demanded impatiently. "Who?"

"She's been trying to get a hold of you for a while now. I had no idea you were so popular. I can relay her transmission over to you." Before the other could answer, the screen blinked and the image of the doctor was replaced with that of a Romulan woman.

Q took in a sharp breath. "Tallera."

The woman nodded once in acknowledgment. "Abel Keynan. You look well, as always."

Sitting down, the smuggler felt his interest multiply exponentially. "That's not why you're contacting me. We haven't had any dealings in at least a year."

"That is true. But I remember what a suitable business partner you were in the past, and I have a new proposition I think you will find quite interesting. It is concerning a certain artifact."

Abel exchanged a look with Shien and turned back to the screen. "Go on."

* * *

Four days later, the Enterprise arrived to its destination on Barradas III. Gathered in the conference room, the senior officers went over the specifics of their mission.

"Barradas III is the only class M planet in this system," Data was saying. "And it is listed as unpopulated. However, sensors have detected intermittent energy signals emanating from its surface."

"What's the source?" Riker asked, looking to Geordi.

"Well," the latter answered. "The signals are difficult to localize, but they could be emissions from some kind of power converter."

"Which would indicate a base," Worf added. "Or a ship. It is likely that Q's own ship could be pursuing us."

"Understood," Riker said. "Mister Worf, I'd like a security detail to accompany the away team to the surface. I'll lead the away team. Geordi, you're with me. Mister Data, you have--"

Q burst in frantically through the airlock, his eyes wild. "Take me with you!" he shouted, flailing his arms.

The room went silent instantly as the officers turned around.

Riker did not bother trying to restrain his absolute irritation. "Abel, get out of here, we're in the middle of a conference."

"You don't understand--"

"Go back to your quarters!"

"But I--"

"Worf..."

On cue, the Klingon leaned forward with aggressive intentions.

Q held up his hands defensively. "Back off, Klingon." He turned back to Riker, his hands clasped together imploringly. "Listen to me. You have to let me accompany the away team to the surface."

Worf moved to stand. "Sir?"

Riker motioned for the Chief of Security to sit back down. "Accompany us to the surface, on what grounds?"

Q's tension lessened. "I know the planet better than any of you. If anyone could find Picard's killers, it's going to be me."

"I think we can handle this investigation just fine on our own," Geordi scoffed.

"Geordi's right," Riker agreed. "You have nothing to offer the away team."

"Except a burden," La Forge added.

Troi analyzed Q for a long moment. "Why are you so interested in finding these mercenaries anyway?"

Abel placed his hands on his hips and tossed his head. "They are financially indebted to me."

"We're not interested in your personal vendettas, Keynan," Riker said.

"Yes, your own take priority."

Before Riker could rattle off a retort, Data interrupted. "Is this to mean that you are familiar with the mercenaries we are seeking to apprehend?"

Q smirked. "Yes, my dear Data, that is precisely what I mean."

Riker narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you weren't affiliated with the mercenaries."

"I'm not."

"Who are these...mercenaries?" Worf inquired.

"Artifact smugglers. Motivated purely for power and profit."

"Sounds familiar," Riker mumbled. "Where the hell are you getting your information?"

Q easily matched the commander's caustic tone. "A Celtrisian bat told me."

Riker sighed. This bastard was trying his patience. "If you know so much, who's their leader?"

"His name is Baran. I can get you an audience with him, if you take me with you. They'll be attracted to the ruins down there like flies to rotting meat. I'll get my funds returned to me, and you will have your revenge."

Riker eyed the smuggler warily for a long moment before nodding reluctantly.

* * *

Immediately after beaming down to the ruins of Barradas III, the away team set off to reflexively analyzing the area, leaving no proverbial boulder unturned.

Q pulled out his blaster rifle and directed it at the wilderness with a look of paranoia.

Riker pointed to a part of the forest, talking to an officer. "Ensign, you take that area." He noticed Q's disruptor and stepped back a pace. "If you're going to keep that un-holstered, I want you to walk in front of me."

The former entity feigned offense. "But_ mon petit capitaine_, don't you trust me?"

"Stop calling me that. How are you doing, Geordi?"

La Forge did not look up from his tricorder. "It's tough to get accurate sensor readings...there's an awful lot of interference in the area."

"From what?"

"I'm not sure. It's very unlocalized, but it could be atmospheric."

Q glanced at the sky, a hint of a smile crossing his features. The interference was from the other ships, of course, but they didn't have to know that.

Riker pointed to a series of holes in the ground. "What do you make of these?" They approached the holes and knelt down. Riker picked up a rock and examined it.

Geordi bent down to take a closer look. "Well, these ruins around here are pretty ancient."

"Ruins? _Ancient_?" Q jeered. "Who would have thought?"

Neither of the officers appeared to have heard the comment. "But these indentations were made fairly recently," the lieutenant said, pointing. "Could be the site of some battlefield."

Riker shook his head. "This doesn't look like any blast point I've ever seen. The shape is too perfect"

"Commander, there's microcrystalline damage all throughout this area, the same kind of pattern Doctor Crusher picked up on the floor of that bar on Dessica II."

Before Riker could utter a response, Worf's voice called through the vegetation, "Commander!"

The three men exchanged glances and cautiously rounded the area.

When they located Worf, they found an officer scanning some debris that was obviously out of place in their temperate surroundings. "I've found something."

Riker moved closer. "It looks as if someone could have just dropped it..."

Suddenly, a phaser blast shot the officer examining the debris, killing him. Q and the remaining Starfleet officers scrambled to attention, pulling out their weapons and running behind cover in opposite directions.

Geordi jumped behind a boulder, keying his communicator. "La Forge to _Enterprise_! We are under attack down here. Repeat! We are under attack!"

Phaser shots were returned throughout the clearing. One of the three mercenaries dashed forward to retrieve the abandoned debris, but was intercepted by Abel Keynan, disruptor in hand.

"Ha!" Q held up the salvaged article tauntingly. "What's this? It seems I have found your beloved--"

"Abel! Get back here!" Riker shouted as he catapulted himself behind cover.

Q followed, tumbling away in time to avoid another incendiary blast. He yelled to be heard over the commotion. "I told you you'd need me!"

"Shut up! I'm going to head for those trees over there...get some crossfire..."

"Don't you dirty your pretty little Starfleet uniform," the smuggler sneered, moving to run. "I'll go."

"Q!" Riker cursed to himself, watching helplessly as the other skulked in the direction he had indicated. For a moment, Abel disappeared from view, lost in a sea of foliage. The commander discharged his phaser on one of the mercenaries, but failed to hit.

As Riker peered over his cover, he saw Q fire his blaster and injure one of his opponents in the arm and another in the abdomen. Phaser fire was exchanged, and Q managed to hold his ground against three well-armed mercenaries, but eventually found himself caught in one of the blasts. Riker's eyes widened in shock as he saw the once omnipotent entity instantly vaporized into nothing, without a sound. The three attackers promptly beamed themselves to safety.

"_Dammit_." Riker grimaced, looking away from the scene. The clearing was once again quiet as if nothing had disturbed the calmness of nature. He stood, and with Worf, Geordi and the remaining ensign, they examined the spot where Q had been killed.

A disembodied voice broke the silence. "Data to away team. Please respond."

Riker keyed his communicator. "Data, we've been attacked. I'm sure these must be the same people who murdered Captain Picard. We've had one casualty, and Q's been vaporized."

"Sir," Worf started. "They must have a base or ship nearby."

The commander nodded, having heard him the first time. "Can the sensors locate anything, Data?" Solemnly, he wondered if Q had saved his own life by charging into the fray himself. He decided not to think about it.

On the bridge of the _Enterprise_, the ensign at ops responded to the question. "Commander, we are picking up a vessel leaving orbit."

"Why was it not detected earlier?" Data inquired.

"They could have been using the planet as a shield, sir." She paused, watching her monitors. "Sir, they are powering up their weapons' systems."

Data sat down in the captain's chair, with an aplomb of calm. "Raise shields." The ship suddenly lurched from a series of blasts ricocheting off the shields, and Data steadied himself. "Damage report?"

"Minor hit on the port deflector. No damage. They're running, sir. Their speed is warp eight point seven and holding. I think they're at their maximum."

"Take us to warp nine in pursuit," Data ordered. "Lock phasers on target."

"We should be in phaser range in--" The ensign caught herself off. "Sir, another ship is de-cloaking from the planet's orbit with weapons charged. They are following at warp ten."

Data immediately recognized the vessel as the_ Anathema_. "And the mercenary ship?"

"Switching to long range scanners. Sir, the sensor image of that ship is extremely weak. It's fading. The ship doesn't register on the long range sensors." She glanced up. "Sorry, sir. We've lost them."

"Increase the sensor field bandwidth. Patch in the lateral sensor arrays."

The ensign made the necessary changes. "It's not good, the signal's gone. It just...disappeared."

"And the Aldreenian ship?"

"They are sending a subspace transmission." At the command of her superior officer, she relayed the message.

"Greetings, _Enterprise_!" an energetic voice chimed in. "This is the _Anathema,_ advising that you turn around and return to your safe niche in space. You see, I have this matter under my control now, and there's really nothing you can do here..."

The turbolift doors parted, allowing a disheveled Sal Shien to enter the bridge. He frowned at the sound of Trent's voice.

"...I expect you'll take good care of the _cargo_ I left behind until I get back. Trenton out."

"That's the end of the transmission." The ensign reported.

"That bastard!" Shien cried out, gaping at the empty space registering on the viewscreen. "That fucking..."

The android glanced at Shien, then back to the ops station. "Is there any way to re-establish the link?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

Data paused curiously, acknowledging the presence of the smuggler on the bridge for a brief moment. He returned to his seat. "Plot a course and take us back to Barradas III. Notify the away team and prepare for transport."

"Aye, sir."

"I don't believe this," the Aldreenian rambled. "I can't believe he'd just leave us here. Where's Abel?" Ttoo busy muttering curses under his breath, he barely noticed Councilor Troi gradually lead him off the bridge and back to his quarters.

* * *

Upon waking up from a dazed state, Q felt his neck and recoiled in horror as he felt a swollen lump, smooth and round, protruding from his skin. Before he could announce his utter disgust at the reprehensible treatment, he found himself being pushed forward onto the bridge of the ship by numerous hands.

"Quit shoving!" he exclaimed at his captors, who ignored him.

"Drug-smuggling scum," one hissed.

Q glared petulantly, retorting, "Relic-raiding nonentities."

"What's the problem?" a familiar voice was saying off to the side.

"I warned you not to push the engines so hard," a second voice replied in a strained tone. "Two of the power shuts are on the verge of collapse. We'll be lucky if we can maintain warp six."

As Q and his entourage approached, he caught sight of the two men, one of whom he instantly recognized as Baran.

"How long will it take to repair?" the one called Baran asked.

"I can try to realign the warp core. It'll take at least eleven hours. But I'll have to shut the engines down completely."

"We're not stopping," Baran snapped. "We can't afford to be sitting helpless in space. I want warp eight available in five hours and I don't want to hear your excuses." He watched as the engineer stalked off to complete the task.

"Having trouble keepin' yer underlings in line, Baran?" Abel sneered affably.

The other turned towards him slowly, a dangerous smile on his lips. "Abel Keynan. How satisfying it is to finally find you under my command."

"I see the leg healed marvelously."

One of the mercenaries held up a bag. "We confiscated his weapons, and we also found this."

Baran took the bag and examined its contents, then shook his head at Q in amused mock-disappointment. "How pitiful." He pocketed the confiscated article.

"Hey!" Q shouted. "That's mine!"

"No longer." The mercenary leader narrowed his eyes, closing the distance between them as he leaned forward. "Now, what were you doing on Barradas III?

"The very same thing as you. Robbing from th' dead, giving to the--" Suddenly, he felt an intense pain emanating from his neck and shooting across his body like white fire. He cried out and doubled over, grasping at the implant on his neck.

"Don't bother, Keynan," Baran continued conversationally. "You can't remove it. It's a neural servo connected directly to your nervous system. It lets me control precisely how much pain you feel. This setting is usually sufficient. However, if necessary, it can go much higher." As if to prove his point, Q writhed from another, more powerful hit. "These devices were the idea of my predecessor. It's a convenient way of enforcing discipline."

"I take it back," Q gasped, glaring up at his captor. "You're fully capable of keeping yer minions in line. What? Too much of a pussy to use brute force, ya have to scare them with yer little de--" He howled again as Baran dealt him another neural blow, this one more extreme than the rest.

A woman sitting at one of the sensor arrays stood and addressed her leader. "This is a waste of time, Baran. Get rid of him, now!"

"You should be more patient, Vekor," Baran returned. "After all, his ship is tracking us as we speak. Don't act so surprised, Keynan...I figured as much from you. We'll wait. Let the memory of his pain argue with him for a while." He gestured to a Vulcan woman, who helped drag Q to a corner. Several other crewmembers joined in on rationalizing the advantages of removing the drug smuggler from his mortal plane of existence.

"They're right, Baran," an authoritative, deep voice called out from another station, causing the drug smuggler to perk in surprise. "And you know it."

Q's eyes widened as the man turned around.

"I say we kill him, now," Picard stated, narrowing his eyes at Q. "If he has nothing to offer us we should kill him now and be done with it. Everyone seems to recognize that fact except you."

"I don't need a consensuses to run this ship, Galen," Baran said. "You should learn not to limit your options. Keynan could be very useful to us in the future."

"He may not be as useful as you think." Picard moved closer to Q as he spoke, his tone holding an acidic quality the smuggler had never heard in it before. "If this is the same Keynan I've heard about."

"Oh?" Q preened, recovering himself. "You've heard of me?"

"Abel Keynan. Drug smuggler and criminal. You were responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Starfleet officers on Starbase 138, and have been involved in countless smuggling efforts throughout the quadrant. Yes, I've heard of you. This man is no more than a clever trickster, who would betray his closest allies for mere entertainment. He holds the death sentence in six systems and the Federation's current reward for his capture is posted at one point five million Federation credits."

"Hey, what d'ya know? It went up!"

"How do you know all this?" Baran asked suspiciously.

"Surely we'd all like to know, Galen."

"Look," Galen said, defending himself. "I've been smuggling artifacts along drug routes for years. You can't help but develop a...familiarity...with certain enemies."

Q screwed up his face. "Aren't ya the same Galen who was indecorously captured by th' Cardassians a year ago?"

Galen looked askance at him, then appealed to his audience. "Look, he's no use to us. Finish him now. Or let me do it for you."

"Oh please." Q stood, sneering. "Your pathetic threats don't--"

Picard's arm suddenly shot out, his fist punching the smuggler squarely in the jaw.

Q staggered back from the force of the blow and managed to steady himself. Tentatively, he reached out and felt his face with one hand. As he touched his lower lip, he glanced down at his fingers, the tips of which were covered in blood. He stared at Picard incredulously. "What the hell was that for?"

"You deserve much more than that, I assure you." Galen kept his fist posed as if to repeat the assault.

"That's enough, Galen," Baran interrupted. "We have more important things to do than indulge in this petty feud." He turned to one of his underlings. "Put him in quarters for now."

* * *

Confined to his quarters, Q huffed as he preformed push-ups on the ship's floor, attempting to quell the dread that was building up in the pit of his stomach. It was only a matter of time when he would go through withdrawal. He counted silently to himself, trying to redirect his attention.

The doors hissed open and "Galen" entered, interrupting his thoughts.

"We don't have much time," he said, walking to the far side of the room. When the doors closed he turned around and smiled down at the former entity with a sudden friendliness. "It's good to see you, Q. But I didn't expect to meet you here."

Q relaxed, standing up and dusting his hands together. "Your crew thought you were dead. _I_ thought you were dead."

"You are certainly no stranger to that sentiment, my friend. These mercenaries use weapons that can activate their transporter...it gives them the opportunity to beam things away quickly just by firing at them, as you so personally witnessed."

"Yeah." Abel rubbed his neck and gestured for the other to sit. "So how the hell did you get involved with this band of artifact-bashing misfits anyway?"

"Well," Picard said, sitting down across from Q. "The site that I wanted to study had been raided, and all the artifacts had been stolen. The site had been practically destroyed."

"And, true to your character as always, you wanted to find out who was responsible," Q finished, getting up to pace about the compact room nervously.

"Indeed. I tracked them to that bar on Dessica II, and I must have asked too many questions. They captured me. They wanted to find out how much I knew about their operation. I convinced them I was a smuggler, and that my name was Galen. I offered to help them appraise the artifacts they had stolen."

"You identified with your captors. Always a fatal mistake, Jean Luc."

"These are not common thieves, Q."

He fidgeted. "Oh, I beg to differ."

"They are stealing Romulan artifacts from archeological sites throughout this sector. Baran has me analyzing each one of them for a particular particle signature. They are looking for a specific artifact."

"Of course they are, you puerile human." Q shook his head then resumed pacing. "Do you think anyone would want to buy a Debrune toothbrush?"

"Q, it is important that we find out what artifact they are looking for. Baran is the key. I think he knows more about what we're really looking for than anyone else on this ship. Baran and I..." he actually shrugged. "Well, he doesn't care very much for me. But he has to tolerate me because he needs my help with these artifacts." He paused. "You are familiar with Baran. Perhaps you should get close to him, try and get his confidence--"

Picard was interrupted by a sudden guffaw of laughter.

"_Moi_?" Q said, "Gain Baran's confidence? You must be joking. He hasn't killed me yet because he knows my people would come looking for me. If you haven't noticed, there is a palpable animosity between the drug and artifact smugglers."

"I noticed. Q, for god's sake, sit down." When the smuggler calmed his nervous energy long enough to return to his seat, he continued. "You didn't explain why you were involved with my crew." Picard warmed, adding, "I would have expected Riker to throw you into the brig immediately."

"I'm sure he would have if I didn't know a thing or two about your so-called murderers. And you forget, dear Jean Luc, that Dessica II happens to be one of my beloved 'stomping grounds'."

"I didn't forget. In fact, I was somewhat expecting to find you there."

Q looked apologetic. "I've been away on business. When I came back, Riker and his poorly dressed away team were conducting a rather pitiful investigation into your disappearance. And, gallant as always, I was inwardly compelled to assist."

"Don't think for one moment that I'm buying that," Picard said.

"Oh you never believe me." The smuggler grinned seductively, his voice velvet. "So, _mon contrebandier_, how shall we use your cunningness and my obvious good looks to overcome this otherwise hopeless situation? You're so wonderfully good at getting yourself out of danger and outsmarting your enemies..."

"And omnipotent entities as well. Unfortunately, as of now, any attempt to outwit Baran will take a great deal of time. And patience." When Q flinched at the word 'time', Picard tactfully lowered his voice. "How long can you go before feeling any serious symptoms of withdrawal?"

Q's nonchalant tone offset the gravity of the subject. "Tension serious, or psychotic serious?"

"Psychotic."

The other steepled his fingers darkly in thought. "Twenty-four hours at least. But it's always getting worse."

Picard nodded, and there was a long lull in conversation.

Q continued as if he had never stopped talking, smiling self-deprecatingly. "When I first became human, I constantly fought to preserve any semblance of control I had over myself and my surroundings. To retain the sense of power I once possessed. I was once able to shape whole galaxies, Jean Luc...to play god and executioner whenever I saw fit. That's the ultimate power. But now, I'm as insignificant as the rest of you."

"I have to believe you are more than the sum of your powers, Q," Picard returned blandly.

"And now I've willingly allowed something trivial to overpower and control me like these damned implants, leaving me powerless." He gestured to his neck casually. "And then I realize I never was in control."

The former captain's tone was light. "You don't need to inform me about the many ironies of mortal life, Q. I am quite aware of them."

The two men shared a smile for a moment, and the captain surprised Q by gently grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

Q covered Picard's hand with his own. "Nice right hook, by the way," he said playfully, rubbing the side of his jaw.

Picard laughed. "I apologize, but I hardly regret it." After a moment, he finally stood up. "I should go before Baran finds me here and starts asking more questions."

"Oh." Q twisted in his seat. "Avoid Tallera, if possible. She isn't as sympathetic to your cause as she would hold you to believe."

Picard raised an inquisitive eyebrow but knew better than to probe further. He merely nodded stiffly and walked out, leaving the smuggler alone once again.

Q resumed tapping his nails against the table and waited, his mind beginning to wander into a dark reverie.


	6. Chapter 6

**-Past-**

Three days later, once the smugglers had secured their payment from Yranac and Trenton had received his new orders, the crew of the _Anathema _stood in the hangar to give their parting words.

"Well, bye!" the doctor declared, turning to make his way up the ship's ramp. "If you run out of Deccas, you're on your own. I can't guarantee you'll be able to contact me."

"Thanks," Shien returned dryly. "Don't damage my ship--I want it returned to me in one piece."

"As you wish, Captain." Trent gestured for the other two mercenaries to follow him, and entered the ship, the ramp folding up behind them. The engines were activated in a loud whirl, and in a moment, the_ Anathema_ had pierced Dessica II's bleak, polluted atmosphere.

The remaining Aldreenian glanced to Q, who was uncharacteristically silent. "Well, it's time we meet your new master."

"Master?" The human screwed up his face in repugnance.

"Not literally, of course," he amended patiently, leading Q out of the hangar bay and outside. "As a sign of respect, trainers are often referred to as _master_."

"An obsolete gesture."

"I'd tend to agree with you. We Aldreenians don't have much of an understanding of rank, class and authority. Everyone is considered the same. And then there's the council--"

"Don't bore me with your paltry attempt at conversation," Q said with a sweeping gesture.

Shien closed his mouth, his lips forming a thin line. "Okay."

They walked through Dessica II's main city, with the Aldreenian periodically catching the human from tripping over rubbish and the homeless. "Before he left, Trent made you a background." Shien produced a padd from his satchel and handed it over. "You should look over it. For safety purposes, you are no longer Q, you're Abel Keynan, a 42-year old human. You have no living relatives. You were--"

"Enslaved by Cardassians?" Q wailed. "Why could I not be the emperor of my own galaxy?"

"Because it has to be believable. If you were a slave for the majority of your life, that would easily account for why you have no previous records. The Cardassians would not have referred to you by any name. Either way, you escaped and we found you, beaten up and amnesic. It's simple enough."

Q did not appear to be sold. "I don't see the validity in any of this."

"You'll have to trust me then. Because as of this moment, I'm the only friend you have."

"Your interest is touching. But I can survive perfectly fine on my own."

Shien halted abruptly. "Oh? Of course. You've been banished before, you must be thoroughly adept at living it rough."

Q perked. "Exactly."

"Then you wouldn't have any qualms if I left you here, then."

"What? I know what point you're trying to make, but--"

"Then stop acting as if I'm torturing you! If you want to survive, if you want to show up the Continuum and gain power in the process, you'll need to learn some fundamental lessons."

"Power?"

"No great powers ever assumed lead roles on superior diplomacy, economics and morals alone. Your Federation has sovereignty because it has the superior technology to back up its force."

"The Federation." Q snorted indignantly, making an extraneous gesture. "The Federation still believes that warp ten is the fastest their little dinghies can travel. They cannot fathom the true nature of the universe any more than a puddle of ooze."

Shien shrugged it off, walking again and glancing up at the sky periodically. Even in the mid-afternoon, the atmosphere was an unhealthy brick red from the constant barrage of dirt and pollutants. "You're in the mortal realm now, Abel. Down here, physical strength and affluence determines your importance." He looked askance at an impoverished man who was kneeling along the sidewalk, his hands stretched out imploringly. "It's the barest truth of life. I don't expect you to understand immediately."

Q blinked at the poverty surrounding them, astonished. When he had been omnipotent, he had ignored this part of mortal existence, thinking naively, like a child examining a colony of beetles, that all corporal beings functioned as one class structure, as the Continuum did. It never occurred to him that there was such a glaring disparity.

"And you mortals just accept this...privation?"

"Some attempt to change things. But eventually even the most altruistic of individuals abandon the notion of equality. They realize that it...the wealth inequality, I mean...has always been this way...and it probably always will be. After all, there is a limit to what we want to sacrifice for someone else. In order for us to achieve any flicker of equality, we'd have to abandon the very essence of what makes us mortal."

"And flawed and incapable of change," Q added offhandedly. Absorbing this tidbit of information, his eyes suddenly caught sight of a brilliant building to his left that stood out from the other filthy structures like a sore appendage. The anemic color that inundated the rest of the city seemed to have been carefully bleached out of the edifice's exterior, providing it with the alluring sheen of cleanliness. The plants occupying the vast yard were not only alive, but thrived with verdant fortitude. All the usual suffering of the common masses of Dessica II appeared to halt where this building began.

He stood frozen, entranced.

Shien noticed his companion lag behind him and followed the human's gaze warily, and his voice lowered. "That's the Dessican Authority's headquarters."

"'Dessican Authority'. The back ally of the universe has law enforcers?" Q shot the building an unimpressed sneer that promised continued insolence. "Next thing you'll tell me is that the Dessicans have developed their own form of government."

"If you consider oligarchy a form of government. The Authority serves as an army that maintains social order, and is under the control of the Dessica system's most wealthy elites, who select the laws they enforce. It's a simple enough system."

As Shien spoke, a group of ten officers, dressed in matching ashen uniforms, marched across the building's vicinity, straight-backed and severe. Each individual bore a rifle strapped across his or her back.

Watching their Borg-like movements, Q felt a cold chill rush down his spine. "Is it safe to stand here?" he whispered, nervousness tinting his voice.

"As long as we don't break any laws. Luckily for us, the elites are wise enough to realize that the Dessican drug trade is their most lucrative source of income."

"It certainly isn't the tourism industry."

"The drug trade is the tourism industry of Dessica II. As of now, the only major offenses are grand larceny and the assault or murder of a member of the Authority. If you don't bother them, they usually won't bother you, but if you see one...keep your distance. The Authority only arrests the guilty. That eliminates the need for courts."

Shien started moving again, and the conversation evaporated. But as they entered a busy part of the city, along a narrow walkway, Q began to panic as he lost sight of the Aldreenian among the masses of bodies walking in different directions. He tried to push past them, to see above the vast crowd, but they only surrounded him and blocked his vision as if he were invisible, intangible. Each figure seemed absorbed in its own problems, faces blank masks of transience. Q frantically fought against the wave of the crowd, which was forcing him back. It was suffocating, with so many bodies in contact with him at once. And not one was paying any attention to him.

Suddenly, Q felt a gentle, protective hand wrap itself around his waist as if it belonged there and pull him forward. He caught sight of Shien standing beside him and exhaled the breath he was holding.

"I apologize," the smuggler was saying. "I knew I should have taken the detour. Don't worry." He roared as he kicked a Kalean ferociously in the leg. "Move!" A spot opened up in the crowd, and Shien grabbed Q anxiously by the hand and barreled through the multitude, aggressively shoving people aside as he dragged the dazed human behind him until they were clear.

Shien released the other's hand and continued to walk as if nothing had occurred. After a number of quiet minutes, they finally arrived to their destination, a structure with no distinguishable markings. "Here we are."

Inside, Shien immediately headed for the turbolift, gesturing for the human to follow. "Basement," he ordered once Q had joined him. "You look disoriented."

Q crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't appreciate being dragged around in this manner." That, and after that incident with the crowd, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He leaned against the wall as the lift began a sudden downward decent, and pulled to the left.

"I have to warn you, you may be surprised. But try to trust me here. I picked Dren out of all the other possible instructors for you because he's well-versed in ancient Earth fighting styles."

The door moved aside, allowing the two men to take in their new surroundings. Instead of the expected lower ground level, the basement was in fact another building unto itself, elaborately decorated with weapons of many varieties hanging on the walls.

Shien approached the front desk, thumping his palm on its surface to obtain the receptionist's attention.

The Vulcan woman glanced up from her monitor. "Yes, sir?"

"We have an appointment with Master Varus Dren."

"And your names?"

"Sal Shien and Abel Keynan."

"You are ten minutes late." She promptly stood from her terminal and led them through a narrow hallway and into a large circular room.

In the center of the enclosure sat a dark-skinned man of muscular build, his body relaxed in pensive meditation as he sat on his heels. His face turned towards the doors as they entered, and Q immediately recognized the humanoid as a Markalian: bald-headed, with spikes surroundings his face. The imposing figure, dressed lavishly in a black gi uniform and hakama, jumped to his feet with alacrity to greet the newcomers.

"Master Dren," the Vulcan woman said. "Your sixteen hundred is here."

"Thank you, Tandsa," Dren returned, his voice low and soothing. Once she had left, he approached his clients with a welcoming smile, noting the Aldreenian first. "Sal Shien? Freggus has told me much about you. Believe it or not, you've made quite a name for yourself here." Before the smuggler could utter an astonished reply, the Markalian focused his attention on Q, extending a generous hand. "And you must be Abel Keynan. I understand it is human custom to shake hands when first meeting a person--"

"I don't indulge in human customs," Q stated bluntly without the slightest indication of remorse.

At Dren's frown, Shien quickly elaborated. "As Freggus must have told you, Abel hasn't had much contact with his species for quite some time."

"Yes...it's an unfortunate circumstance." He paused and began to examine Q as if he were an animal being judged for the quality of its breeding. "Hmm. Follow me, we're going to take your measurements. You aren't going to need all that armor...you look like you're about ready to suffocate in it."

It was true; he could hardly breathe in the damn thing. With the assistance of Shien, Q managed to remove the majority of his bulky armor, leaving him clothed merely in his jumpsuit. He stepped onto the indicated platform.

"All right, now stand right there and don't move. No, _don't_ move." Dren activated a panel, and a light began to revolve around the human, measuring every inch of his body with startling accuracy. Once the machine had finished its duty, the trainer interpreted the readout screen. "Interesting."

Q snapped defensively, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"According to this scan, you're of average health for a human of your age. Nothing remarkable. But what you do have at your advantage is your height." Dren paused thoughtfully a moment to examine his pupil, then activated a sequence on the panel. "Tandsa, set program to scenario 'Dren 2A'."

Upon this command, their surroundings suddenly altered to that of a simple sparring ring, with padded floor mats raised above rows of empty seats. Q knelt down to study the floor material, noting that this was not holodeck technology, but merely the act of an ordinary transporter.

"First off," Dren continued. "I will have to gauge your level of proficiency. Tandsa, two staffs, sequence one." Immediately, two wooden bo staffs appeared on the ground between them, and he gestured for Q to pick his up.

Shien watched from the side as Dren held his weapon in both hands and bent his legs in a ready stance. He smiled as he saw a hesitant Q mimic the other's actions in obvious discomfort.

Dren nodded once. "Good. Now, attack me, while trying to block my own actions."

Q glanced to Shien, whose only response was a meager shrug. With a swift motion, he thrust one end of his staff at his opponent's thigh, only to have his attack easily blocked. He tried again, this time aiming at Dren's head, but the Markalian caught the blow with his weapon. Q attempted another series of feeble attacks, each one thwarted with casual ease. The human huffed in frustration. "This is ridiculous."

"You have potential," Dren offered, twirling his staff expertly in a manner that obviously daunted his pupil. "Let's see if your defense is any better." With that said, he swung several times at his opponent, causing Q to slowly retreat in discomfiture. In another swipe, he had disarmed Abel of his weapon, and then struck Q rigorously in the left leg. The former entity yelped in a mixture of alarm and pain and fell onto his side. Dren struck him again in the torso several times, and whapped the helpless creature between the shoulder blades with ferocious intensity. Q's only defense was to whimper in distress and slowly crawl away, his body shuddering with every beating while he begged for onslaught to end.

Shien stared at the spectacle, his mouth agape in astonishment.

Once it became clear that Q was not about to make any attempt at actual defense, Dren dropped his weapon to the floor. He scratched the back of his neck. Tentatively, the Aldreenian bent down to examine Keynan's injuries, all of which were minor bruises and scrapes. Q immediately shrunk away from Shien's touch and continued to sob softly.

The smuggler faced the trainer angrily. "Was that really necessary?"

To his credit, Dren appeared confounded. "Even as an amnesiac, he should have some kind of inborn reflexes, some kind of protective response to that many attacks. He barely even attempted to shield his head."

"At the bar," Shien mused, "he curled himself into the fetal position."

"Hmm. That isn't much of an effective defense measure."

"So, will you help him?"

Q stumbled to his feet vehemently, his face livid. "I don't want this sadistic fiend training me! He'll murder me! Look at him! Look at him!"

Shien clutched the human's shoulder, his voice a whisper. "Q--Abel, he's considered the most competent and noteworthy training expert on Dessica II."

"He nearly killed me!" He flailed his arms melodramatically.

"Frankly," Dren folded his arms over his muscular chest. "If it's not me who kills you, it'll be someone else. You have no fighting skill whatsoever. You should be begging me for my assistance."

"Will you help him?" Shien repeated.

Dren scratched at the spot above his jaw where his earlobe would have been, mulling it over. "Yes, but he'll require intensive study. He's worse off than most of my clients...it'll take several months." He paused, making a gesture of rubbing a thumb against his remaining four fingers pointedly. "And, it'll require a little extra."

The Aldreenian brushed blonde tresses from his eyes. "That's fine."

"I want to see him every day starting tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred. We'll begin with the basics in defense and weight training and work from there. Here--" Dren ambled over to the control terminal and developed a number of data chips, handing them over to Shien. "Have him look over these holos tonight. I want him to have at least some idea of what to expect."

Shien inspected the chips in his palm for a moment before pocketing them. "Thank you," he said sincerely, assisting Q in re-donning his armor.

"No need. 'Any friend of Freggus...' as it goes." He showed both men out of the room, adding, "oh-eight-hundred. Don't be late."

* * *

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Q," Shien said once they were in the privacy of their own apartment, a cheap two-bedroom flat situated over a nightclub. Whatever time of day, the distant thud of music from below could be heard through the thin floorboards.

Q glared up from his lunch. "Stop reading my thoughts."

Shien crumbled something that looked to Q like a sugar cube into his coffee and sipped from it. "Q, the helmet you're wearing blocks most telepathic invasions. And even if you weren't wearing it, I have no reason to go shuffling through your mind. Besides, our telepathic capabilities with non-Aldreenians are purely empathic."

This bit of information put the paranoid human at more ease. "So, these helmets do in fact block telepaths? I thought that was a tired excuse to get Troi to stop harassing you."

"No, but she was being an intrusive pest. Normally we try to keep the secret of our helmets to ourselves...but I would have said anything for her to go bother someone else."

Q smiled thinly at Shien's derision of the councilor, approving.

"We managed to steal several helmets from the authorities before we were banished from Aldreen." He cleared the remaining food from his plate into the waste receptacle in the kitchen. "If you want to view those holos Dren gave you, my computer is in my room. I'm going downstairs to socialize...do you think you'll be okay up here on your own?"

The former entity's mood turned dark. While he resented Shien for bringing him to this cesspool of a planet and then forcing him to undergo humiliating training by that psychopathic Markalian, part of him did not want the overly-considerate Aldreenian to leave him. But he could not allow himself to appear dependent. He was Q, dammit! Not formally-enslaved Abel Keynan. He waved his companion away coldly, forcing himself aloof. "Go, I have no further need of you. As of yet."

"If you need to contact me, even for the simplest reason...my headset communicator is on." When the other did not show interest, Shien paused in the doorway to study Q for an extended period before exiting the apartment without another word.

Q watched him go, then examined the data chips laying on the kitchen table. Slowly, he pulled off his armor and studied his wounds in front of a mirror hanging in the living area. To his surprise, and to a lesser extent dismay, his skin was spotted blue with bruises in only a few minor places along his torso and not at all below his waist. He shook his head, irritated with himself for over-reacting.

While Q was accustomed to being the one issuing the tests, he was resolute not to fail one assigned to him by a mortal. Granted, his corporal body was endlessly frail in comparison to his former form, but as he thought about Shien's musings about power deriving from physical strength...

What a ridiculous thought. Stoop to their level? What did that blond brute know about what he was enduring? He had a reputation to preserve, after all.

But he didn't want to die, either. And the humiliation of being helpless to a lower life form outweighed the cost of lowering himself to occasional acts of barbarism in the name of self defense.

Gathering up the data chips, Q made his way to Shien's bedroom, which was adjacent to his own. Sitting down at the desk, he opened the drive meant to hold the disks, and found one already inside. Thinking nothing of it, Q pulled it out and set it aside, depositing one of his own in its place and ordering the holo to begin.

The hologram materialized before him, its topic centered around the anatomy of various humanoids. Disinterested with the other species, Q skipped directly to the human. The presentation first explained the skeletal structure of the human body, how each bone moved in conjunction with others in an agonizingly simplistic manner. Then it went on to describe the names of the muscles and their functions. Deltoids, quadriceps, rhomboids, abductors...Q memorized each representation immediately upon viewing it. The next hologram divulged information pertaining to weight lifting to increase strength and muscle control. Q was introduced to bicep curls, lateral raises, leg extensions and the like.

After he finished absorbing these, he viewed the holos describing self-defensive strategies such as blocks, blending and wristlocks, and offensive strategies such as kicking and punching. Holographic figures sparred, blocking and exchanging virtual blows of varied renowned fighting styles from across the universe. Dren's fighting style was apparently a martial art, a demented amalgamation of Earth's aikido, hapkido, karate, and his own Markalian techniques. Q watched intently, visualizing himself in place of those figures. The natural savagery of the actions unsettled the human, but the sheer control and power each figure exerted over themselves and others also mesmerized him.

Once the last production was completed, Q sat in silence, allowing the new information to seep thoroughly into his brain. It had been nearly two hours. Moving to go, Q removed his chip from the drive and replaced it with Shien's original disk. Back in its proper place.

But as Q stood, the projector whirled back to life on its own accord as it automatically began to play the new holo. The former entity lifted his hand to shut it off, but suddenly halted his efforts upon catching sight of the holo's genre. Two humanoids-- both men-- were engaged in conversation. For some reason, the first man was dressed as an explorer searching to discover new alien races while the second wore the costume of a creature, complete with green skin and a tail.

"You are absolutely stunning," the explorer was saying. "Allow me to explore your lovely body so I can learn more about you and your kind."

"Probe me any way you want, Captain Hardick," the alien replied, swaying his hips and throwing himself anxiously into his arms. "I am yours!"

Q snorted at the absurd, inane dialog, sitting down. If only all encounters were that friendly. Picard surely hadn't been so agreeable when they first met.

"Let us go to my spaceship, my Prince, where we can negotiate a treaty between our people." A sickly yellow light suddenly shinned down on them, and they were seemingly transported onto a ship, which was merely a floating bed with headlights. Shien certainly had poor taste in cinematography.

Then, to Q's shock and horror, they began to tear at each other's clothing. With their garments in tatters, the men closed in on each other, embracing and locking lips passionately. They engaged in base sexual acts...biting, sucking and pouncing on one another like crazed animals. Then the captain shoved the alien onto the bed forcefully, drenched the Prince's buttocks with a translucent liquid, and squeezed his erection inside the alien, thrusting over and over.

No, Picard definitely had not been that agreeable.

Q's heart leapt into his throat. "What kind of filthy pervert is Shien?" he wailed, feeling betrayed by being duped into viewing such a putrid scene. Yet Q could not tear away his eyes from the projection. And, as he heard the men moan loudly with each stroke, he felt his body suddenly react.

Gulping, Q gingerly felt at the crotch of his pants, and he shivered as his own penis moved and lengthened upon contact. This was not the first time this had happened. In fact, on several occasions he had waken up from a sordid dream in the same predicament. He had no control over it, it just...happened. The problem usually solved itself. If he ignored the throbbing hardness and the urge to touch it, the erection eventually went away. Once, he had even woken up with ejaculate over himself and his bed sheets, and Q did not want to repeat the process again. But as Q watched the alien start to stroke his own erection, the urge to touch himself became unbearable.

"This is disgusting," Q reminded himself as he undid the fastenings of his pants and held out his hard cock in his left palm. "I cannot believe I'm doing this." With one of his hands, the Prince was pumping his cock and cupping his testicles with the other. Curiously inspired, Q copied the movements with accuracy. Whatever he was doing, it felt amazing, so he kept it up, continuing to view the distasteful yet stimulating images while simultaneously chanting a mantra about the baseness of his actions. "Nauseating. Reprehensible. Unhygienic..."

The captain continued to plow into his partner with rabid intensity. Too enamored in bringing himself to climax, Q could barely pay attention, their primal noises filling his ears. It was thrilling him, and he sped up his movements until he felt a spectacular surge overwhelm him like a wave of warmth. In an instant, he had crossed over.

After a dazed moment, Q sat up, half ecstatic from the pleasure and from the fact that it was over. The couple was still engaged in coitus, but he had lost his interest, now preoccupied in finding something to clean himself off with. Thankfully, Shien's desk was stacked with plenty of fresh napkins. Carefully, Q managed to rid himself of the filthy mess his orgasm had left behind, and promptly disposed of the evidence.

Then a thought occurred to him as he re-fastened his pants. He looked from the smut, to the conveniently-placed napkins, then back to the smut. "Eeeaah!" he shrieked at the realization, continuously shuddering in reprehension. Q ran to the restroom to wash his hands.

Why did he feel so dirty? Oh, yes, he was a depraved pervert. And apparently, so was his traveling companion.

* * *

"She no longer lives 'ere!" the old woman announced, tearing off a slip of paper and throwing it in his face before she abruptly closed the door.

That was Dessican hospitality at its best. He looked down at the address in his hands and started walking. After fifteen minutes, he found the building several blocks away from his own residence, tucked away behind an alley. Inside, he wound his way through the corridors until he discovered the sought-after address.

"This must be it," Shien observed under his breath as he reproachfully assessed the door in front of him. He read the markings on the panel adjacent to the chime. Underneath her name and profession were her hours: "no calls accepted between 05:00 and 13:00. Services paid up front."

He checked his chronometer and sighed. For some reason, he could not bring himself to leave the hallway.

_"You've never done this before?" she had exclaimed, not bothering to mask her disbelief. "Yer joking! You look like yer at least as old as me!"_

_"I'm thirty-five." He could not understand why she so visibly reeled at that information._

_"Thirty-five?" She had peered at him, examining his tight skin, blond hair, youthful eyes, and boyish frame. "You look fifteen! An' yer still a virgin at thirty-five? Er, you aren't diseased, are ya?"_

_"No! Ah, perhaps this was a bad idea..."_

_"No refunds. Rahel would kill me."_

_"That's fine, you don't have to..."  
_

_Suddenly the girl became defensive. "Wait, it's not because of me, is it? Yer uncle specified you'd want someone young. Are my breasts not large enough? My hips too narrow? Lips too small? Hair too brown?"_

_"No, I just think...I think it would be better if I just waited for a woman I, er, know."_

_"That attitude isn't gonna get you laid," she chided darkly. "I just don't get it. How can a guy like you be a virgin? You're handsome, in that pretty-boy sorta way. Women should be throwing themselves at you. What, were you locked away for most of yer life?"_

_"Yes." When she only stared at him in surprise, he graciously elaborated. Wasn't all this common knowledge? But she was a female, so perhaps she didn't know. "Aldreenian pre-pubescent males are cloistered and formally educated until they reach sexual maturity. I didn't get to finish my own education, though."_

_"Why?"_

_"We were," he swallowed, "__sent away ten years ago."_

_"Oh." She frayed her brow. "Why were you, uh, cloy...cloys...?"_

_"Cloistered?" He shrugged. "I don't know; I was just a child. My uncle says it was one of Aldreen's many dated traditions. We've been controlling our own evolution for centuries. Aldreenians cloister the males until they reach maturity, and if they seem to have valuable genes worthy of being passed down, they are allowed to be released and breed freely with whatever female he finds suitable. If the male isn't genetically valuable, however, he's locked away for the rest of his life."_

_"No sex for life? That's depressing."_

_"My uncle's friend says that if I were still living on Aldreen, they probably wouldn't have let me out. I would have been one of the concubines to an Advisor." He shrugged again with indifference. All for the best, he surmised._

_The prostitute appeared to actually be disgusted. "How terrible." She paused thoughtfully for a beat. "Seriously, what's wrong with ya? Y'look hella more 'valuable' than most men I've fucked."_

Shien smiled faintly at the memory. He had not had any answers then, but now a vague notion was in the process of clarifying itself.

_She flopped onto the bed and sat there with an intent look on her face. "So, wha' happens to th' women on yer planet? Are they, uh, pent-up too?"_

_"I don't think so. Aldreenian females mature twice as fast as men and die twice as early, so they are never cloistered. And, as I've been told, the most genetically viable females go to the Advisors."_

_"What a bizarre system. I hate it when women are treated like objects."_

_He nodded. "I suppose that is why my clan revolted. Aldreenians are resistant to change."_

_"So yer a sexually-repressed thirty-five year-old virgin boy, and yer uncle sent ya t' me t' rectify your sad situation. Hm. Happens often enough." She appraised him a moment. "What do ya already know? What'd they teach ya whilst you were locked away in your tower?"_

_"The rudimentary basics, really." He pantomimed a vulgar hand-gesture involving a finger and open fist._

_She laughed. "That's a start." _

Shien was turning to leave when the door suddenly slid aside and a thin woman stepped into the hallway. It took her a brief moment to recognize him. "Shien? Shien! I heard you were back...how come y' never stopped by t' see me before? I know you've been on Dessica II between now and th' last time we met, so what's th' deal? Oh well, it doesn't matter. Shit, I was expecting you t' look different, but you haven't aged a minute, you fucking lucky bastard."

He folded his arms over his chest and smiled. She, on the other hand had aged considerably over the course of a mere three years. But she couldn't possibly be more than twenty-five years old.

He must have manifested a degree of his dismay at her appearance on his face because she laughed bitterly. "Unlike me, huh? It's been difficult. No, that doesn't begin to describe it. It's been a living hell."

"Rahel?"

"Executed six months ago. He got himself into a quarrel with an elite over one of the girls, and assaulted him."

"That's unsurprising."

She nodded in agreement. "Good riddance. I'm on my own now, as you can see. Wanna come inside? I was on my way out, but I suppose I could spare some time for an old friend. I can't wait to hear about all the new girlfriends y' must have."

"All right, but I can't stay too long. I left my..." Hostage? Crewmember? "...Friend...alone at the apartment."

She smirked, stepping aside to let him in. "You can tell me all about this _friend_."

* * *

Q had switched off the projector in disgust and had left the room when he found Shien simultaneously walking through the front door.

The Aldreenian noticed him. "Hey, how were those holos?"

"G-good," Q stammered as he fled to his room.

Shien raised a brow. If he had not known better, he could have sworn Q was blushing.

* * *

The next morning after a short breakfast, Shien and Q returned to the guild as scheduled. In order to bypass the crowd, the Aldreenian had sacrificed a significant yet dispensable amount of latinum to purchase a cheap anti-grav vehicle, saving them much time and frustration. To Shien's surprise and suspicion, Q did not complain about continuing his training with Dren as much as he had anticipated.

Although curious as to what had caused the human to suddenly break from his habit of perpetual grousing and whining, Shien chose not to mention it. Better not to curse this obvious change in fortune.

Q broke the silence as the smuggler piloted them to their destination. "Have you noticed? I haven't complained once today."

Shien's hands ran over the controls. "Q, you've only been awake half an hour."

"Still. I think I deserve some sort of commendation for my altruistic efforts."

"'Altruistic'?"

"I'm being agreeable for your benefit."

"Q." Shien gave the human a sharp look. "Did you happen to dip into my stash of Yalotta spice?"

"Fine." Q turned away sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't accept my generosity. If no one was willing to accept my kindness when I had my powers, I suppose it's foolish of me to expect more now."

Shien frowned, unsure about the human's erratic behavior. Was Q genuinely attempting to be genial? And if so, why? He suddenly found himself wishing that his companion was not wearing that damned helmet. Even empathy would be better than this blank wall he was currently getting.

Finally, the duo arrived to the guild, and Shien promptly docked their transportation before escorting Q to his new master, who they found in the same circular dojo as before.

Varus Dren stood from his kneeling position and greeted them with a low bow. "Just on time. Perfect, just perfect. Now, Abel, we'll be starting today off with a few muscle exercises and work our way from there. I don't want to rush you into anything, after all."

Q's eyes narrowed as he picked up on the slight patronizing tone. "Aerobic or anaerobic?"

"Both. Did you review those holos I gave you?" When the answer was the affirmative, he nodded in satisfaction and requested that his pupil dress down in a training outfit for added comfort, which he readily provided in the appropriate size.

Q donned the item with some apprehension. But as he made his way out of the changing room, he found the attire quite satisfactory. The color, a dark indigo, suited him perfectly, and the garment itself was neither too tight nor too baggy.

Dren clapped his hands together. "Let's begin. First, we'll start with some simple stretches." They situated themselves on the mats, and the master demonstrated some of the exercises himself, and Q copied his actions flawlessly. "Yes, that's right. Here, try this. Good, good."

Shien stood off to the side for the first hour and watched Q's progress. He was doing much better than he had anticipated, in fact. The human preformed the stretches and anaerobic workouts correctly, but it was clear he did not understand exactly what he was doing and why, because each of his movements were mechanical and without deliberation.

Dren accessed a new program, and several pieces of workout equipment materialized inside the room. He stood next to one bizarre-looking contraption. "We'll work on your arms, chest and back today. Hmm, your scan placed your strength at level 13, so your max press should be at least sixty-four kilograms. Wait, what are you doing?" He stood nonplused for a moment as he watched Q slip several weights onto the bench-press and slide underneath the bar on his back as if he had done this thousands of times before.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Q sneered, carefully lifting the weighted bar above his head. He immediately felt a strain being put on his pectorals and biceps. Grimacing, he moved the bar up and down slowly. He hadn't expected it to hurt that much, but when he set the bar back down on the rack, the tightness in his muscles felt somewhat pleasant.

"Ahh...how many times did you watch those holograms, by the way?"

"Once," Q stated casually as he sat up, looking around the room for something to stimulate his triceps.

Dren scratched at his chin. "I thought you had no previous experience with--"

"I don't."

"I...see."

* * *

The days quickly turned into weeks with the obscure inevitability that came with linear time. And, as is the custom, those weeks became one month. Unbeknownst to Q, who was too involved in his own endeavors of learning self-defense to protect himself from being brutally taken advantage of in the future, Shien was making his own business dealings to ensure that the rent was paid.

The door to the apartment chimed, signaling the presence of a visitor.

Blaster in hand, Shien stood by the door and studied the surveillance monitor in the foyer. Two Romulan men, both of whom he recognized. He allowed the doors to open. "What do you have for me?"

One Romulan lifted up a hefty case, handing it to the Aldreenian.

Shien bit at his lower lip, his eyes darting back and forth across the hallway. "Wait here," he ordered, his voice a near whisper as he grabbed the case and shut the doors on his visitors.

He strode to his bedroom and placed the item on his desk, using a low-intensity phaser beam to cut through its outer shell. Peeling back the casing, he methodically counted the latinum bars resting inside before drawing out his tricorder and analyzing their authenticity. Once he was satisfied with the results, he opened his closet and exchanged the case of latinum bars with a container he extracted from one of the shelves.

From this container Shien removed four vials, which he immediately wrapped in a thick, sturdy material. Then he returned to his guests, depositing the vials into the first Romulan's hand. "The galaxy's finest."

"Is it not proper practice to share the first--?"

Shien dismissed the ritual with a convivial wave of the hand. "Andris is not my style." When his customers nodded in acceptance and left, he allowed himself to relax. Why was he acting so paranoid?

His glance turned to the chronometer and he started, running out the apartment and to the docking bay. Jumping into his cruiser, he immediately input a series of coordinates. The vehicle roared and jerked forward, propelling him at an incredible speed past normal traffic.

Normally when Shien came to the guild at this time, he would find Q already waiting for him outside the circular training room. However, on this occasion, the halls were deserted, absent of the pupils and instructors that usually bustled around. Setting his teeth, the Aldreenian entered the room, glancing around briefly as the doors shut behind him.

Chaos was ensuing inside as half a dozen bodies flailed around, jumping, kicking and dodging as they spared. Shien blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sea of movement, and started as he noticed a figure running toward him.

"Ah! Shien!" Dren excitedly slapped the Aldreenian on the shoulder. "I'm glad you finally came! I have such astounding news!"

"Ehh...you do?" Shien stood taken aback by the other's overt enthusiasm. He looked past the Markalian, but was unable to pinpoint Q anywhere in the mob, which deeply disturbed him. If Q was in this room, Shien worried, he was certainly curled into a ball somewhere. "Is Abel all right?"

"Oh, I'd say so." Dren pulled the smuggler aside, raising his voice to be heard over the shouting. "He's made an incredible amount of progress over the past two weeks, the most of which came today."

"Today?"

The master glanced to the fray for a thoughtful moment. "At first, he was learning what I was trying to teach him at a rather slow rate. He was incredibly timid with allowing someone to attempt to attack him, even if there was no possible way he could be harmed. He was even more reluctant about the offensive moves. But gradually he began to become more...comfortable. And then, something quite bizarre happened." Before Shien could inquire about his meaning, Dren clapped his hands twice.

On cue, the battling came to a complete halt, and the room fell silent. With the surroundings finally calm, Shien was able to catch sight of Q's figure among the other trainees.

What the hell was going on?

Dren gestured for one of pupils to come over. The young, toned man approached, allowed his master to whisper into his ear, nodded, and returned to the other trainees. He said something directly to Q, who stood watching intently as the young man got into a fighting stance with a second student.

"Abel has yet to see this move," Dren explained as the young man attacked his partner with a swift punch, which was easily blocked with an open hand. In another instant, the attacker's arm was disabled and his legs were kicked out from under him, causing him to fall harmlessly onto his back.

It was a simple enough maneuver, but the Aldreenian failed to understand the pertinence. "I don't--"

"Now," the Markalian interrupted. "Watch."

Shien observed as the first pupil pulled himself off the floor and then faced Q, getting into the same starting posture as before. The former entity copied this action easily. Shien bit his lower lip nervously as the first man attacked Q the exact same way as before, only to be once again blocked with an open hand, have his arm pinned, and knocked to the floor with a kick to the backs of his ankles. Q looked up and smirked slightly as Dren clapped in congratulations.

Shien gaped. "What was that?"

Dren waved a hand for the others to continue, and addressed the bewildered Aldreenian with calm satisfaction. "I have to tell you, I've never seen such rapid progress in one human before. Especially one as, ah, old as your friend. But I may have a theory for this apparently uncanny ability of his. I think he either has near photographic reflexes, or he's subconsciously accessing some of the pent-up fighting skills he has supposedly forgotten."

"Photographic reflexes," Shien repeated in amazement.

"Either way, he's no longer deserving of the beginner's level anymore." He grabbed Shien by the arm with a strange urgency. "I want to move him to my advanced class."

"So soon? I thought it took years to--"

"It does. But his abilities are extraordinary. He only has to look at an action, and as long as his muscles are capable of performing it, he can automatically copy the move flawlessly as if he were a robot or something. No, he definitely belongs in my advanced class." He paused. "Unless you disagree."

"I--" Shien glanced at Q, who was watching the trainees as if he was doing complex calculations in his head. He had only came here to give the human a basic training so he would not be as easily killed during one of their runs. Advanced training was something he had never conceived. This bizarre talent of Q's had to be some sort of residue from his past form, Shien reasoned, giving him a more adept procedural memory than the average human. Could he just allow this rare ability go to waste? "I...I think I'll take you up on your offer."

"Good!" Dren slapped him on the back. "It'll be somewhat more expensive, but it's worth every latinum strip."

"Yeah." Shien caught Q's eye through the melee and they exchanged a brief smile.

A week later, once the session had finished and Q had taken off his training garment in exchange for his usual armor, both men returned to the cruiser and proceeded to drive back to the apartment. They were on a direct course and were right in front of the building before Shien sharply jerked the joystick, bringing the craft to an abrupt right turn into a different parking lot.

"You're going the wrong way," Q pointed out, annoyed at the mortal's lack of direction sense.

Shien merely shook his head. "Being accepted into Varus Dren's advanced class is a great privilege, Q. This is a cause for celebration."

The human snorted indifferently. "Hardly an accomplishment. His professed 'advanced' class is nothing but novices." When Shien chuckled at that, he narrowed his eyes incredulously. "What's so funny?"

"Q, you've only been training for one month! What do you know about fighting? They have years of experience over you."

"Hmph. And I have an IQ light-years ahead of them."

"Is that how you were able to master those moves so easily? Superior intelligence? I don't believe it."

"You should." Abel leaned back in his seat to peer out the view port. "All those trivial martial arts techniques these idiots rave about are mere physics. Balance, weight distribution, inertia..."

"Don't forget muscle." Shien pinched Q's left tricep playfully. "You've gotten quite a bit stronger, there. Very nice." He withheld a smirk as the other recoiled from his touch. "It's a little more than just physics when you're fighting outside a controlled environment, though. When you have an adrenaline rush because you're running like hell from someone who's trying to blast you into ashes, you won't be thinking about calculations and inertia. It's instinct that you need."

"I don't have instincts."

"You'd be surprised." He brought the vehicle to a halt outside a run-down building that matched the rest of its surroundings. Q exited the cruiser with a dubious glance at the front door and Shien handed him a wad of latinum slips. "I guess we'll find out soon enough whether or not you have any instincts."

Q blinked down at the golden mass in his palm.

"Keep that hidden," Shien advised as he led the human into the building. "You don't want to test your fighting abilities just yet."

The human pocketed the items with over-exaggerated casualness. As he removed his hand from his jacket, however, he suddenly felt as though foreign eyes were upon him. Slowly, Q looked up to catch the steady gaze of a man in a pale uniform with a rifle poised in his hands.

The officer curled his lip. "What're you lookin' at?"

Q stood paralyzed, his mouth slightly agape.

"Well? What's yer problem, fellah?" The officer frowned.

Q struggled in his fear to say something, but before he could move his lips, he felt Shien grab him by the arm and pull him from under the bemused gaze of the Authority and into the confines of the building. "Come on, you're drawing attention to yourself." he whispered pointedly under his breath. Once inside, he released Q's arm and shot him a look of concern. "What's wrong with you?"

"I--" But Q didn't quite understand himself why he was so suddenly stricken with fear by the officer's presence. He had never feared authority. Resented it, yes, but never feared it. "I don't know," he finished, deflated. "I saw him, and my body...this inferior, inept body...refused to move. I was paralyzed."

"Hm." Shien nodded a moment thoughtfully and led the ruffled former entity past a substantial line of potential clientele who waited restlessly in front of the nightclub's entrance. "I've seen a number of people react to surprise by freezing up. They get caught committing a crime or something, or they're caught in the path of an oncoming anti-grav train, and instead of running or fighting, they just stand there with an idiotic expression on their faces." He paused a beat. "Those people, the ones incapable of acting under pressure...are usually the first to die around here."

"How cheery."

Shien shrugged and made his way to the front of the line where he casually nodded to a bouncer, who returned the gesture of recognition and lowered the force field that barred the others from gaining entrance. As they walked, Q made out the phrase 'The Dancing Nimbus' written in blue and violet neon lights flashing above the doors.

Tipping the bouncer on his way out of reflex, the Aldreenian gracefully led Q through the maze of bodies to their destination seated at the bar.

"I always sit at the counter," Shien began conversationally, straddling his stool and peering around the enclosure with a vigilant flick of his eyes. "Center of the action." He inhaled a deep breath of the thick haze as if savoring the crisp scent of air on a bright spring morning. And although the act immediately caused him to cough uncontrollably, he managed to maintain a content smile.

Q took in his surroundings with indifference. The venue in which they were present appeared to possess a life of its own, animated in torrid activities that the human unconsciously found both intimidating and alluring. On one hand, the life forms engrossed in their own rapacious, degenerate pursuits were filthy creatures of no consequence, caught in an absurd cycle of primal wants and desires that were never to be satiated. These beings were blind to the fact that they were going no where and would probably die unmourned as yet another low-class, ineffective waste of matter in an equally meaningless universe.

Yet, as Q watched one individual take a hit off a glass water pipe and share a brief laugh with his fellow miscreants, and the way Shien's face lit up with excitement and lost its normal expression of isolation in the midst of such a dark atmosphere, he became aware of a stirring in the back of his mind, a slight sense of...comradeship. It was quickly suppressed. "More like center of nowhere," he groused, with little feeling behind the words.

Shien's face fell and he turned away to address the bartender. "I'll have a pint of Takarian mead, and...Abel, what do you want?" When Q only stared at him blankly, he returned his attention to the tender, lowering his voice and leaning over to talk in her ear. "Do you have any Earth drinks? Something...mild?"

The woman glanced over to Q, nodded in comprehension, and moved to mix their drinks. "I know jus' th' right thing."

The Aldreenian turned back to his companion, and was about to begin a new conversation when a young human man clasped him on the shoulder, interrupting him. "Sal!" He grabbed Shien's hand at his side and shook it ebulliently. "How're ya, man? Jus' got here? Haven't seen ya in days! Who's yer friend?"

Shien reclaimed his hand after it had been thoroughly shaken. "Ah, Drysten. Oh, this is Abel Keynan, a new, ah, addition to my crew." He smiled to Q. "Abel, this is my friend Drysten Nentres. He's a member of the prestigious Dessican thieves' guild."

"Is this th' Abel Keynan ya've been so vocal about?"

"The same."

"Well, at yer service then, Mister Keynan." The thief dusted at his shabby attire and invited himself to a seat beside his smuggler companion. "Hey, Sal, didya see that fuckin' obedient in the front of th' building when ya came in?"

"The officer? Yeah. I've never seen one stationed in this part of the city."

"D'ya follow politicals, Sal?" Drysten frowned a moment as Q suddenly started chuckling under his breath, then shrugged it off. "I heard that some of th' elites have been tryin' t' get involved with th' Federation or something an' that some are pushin' fer stricker laws t' appeal to th' Fed's love of moral stabelation."

Shien leaned forward with serious concern. "What kind of stricter laws?" He didn't notice the bartender arrive with their drinks.

"One screwdriver." She smiled as she placed the glass in front of Q and moved off to serve other patrons.

Q analyzed the cocktail before him for a long moment before gingerly putting the rim to his lips and tasting it. The ice and juice was cold, but the alcohol caused a warming sensation to pass through his body that he found suitably intoxicating.

The thief wound his hands together. "Well, firstly, they're thinkin' 'bout makin' all forms of larceny a crime, and then they're gonna go after th' drug trade."

"They wouldn't do that," Shien stated almost in disbelief. "Dessica needs the drug trade as much as we do."

"Well, if this shit goes through, we're both fucked, my friend. They're gonna make drugs illegal, then prostitution, and then they'll make it fucking illegal jus' t' stand in front of an establishment."

The Aldreenian crumpled a cube into his drink and chugged the concoction grudgingly. "They wouldn't do that," he repeated, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"I hope yer right." Nentres examined his blackened nails a moment and looked up. "Hey, Abel, what'd'ya think 'bout all this?"

Shien opened his mouth.

Q did not miss a beat, gazing through his half-empty glass, his voice equally as expressionless as his face. "It's fuckin' bullshit. Ya either have t' convert t' the Federation's version of a proper civilization or be forever cast out as a lower, primitive society." He made an expansive gesture. "We're better off in this retrograde squalor than obeying their fuckin' sanctimonious principles."

"Yeah," Nentres agreed dully while Shien stared at Q as if his companion had just grown another head. "That's right, what ya said." He then leaned over Shien's shoulder to speak guardedly. "Hey, Sal, by the way...could y' possibly hook me up with a...uh..."

Shien looked askance at the thief. "I don't have any on me, idiot."

The other linked his hands together in a pleading fashion. "Couldn't you go to your place...please?"

"Nentres, I'm kind of in the middle of something." But the reprobate was persistent in receiving his fix, and Shien gave up trying to fend off his irritating attempts at persuasion. "Fine." He let out a long-suffering sigh and gently touched Q's arm. "Abel, I'm going to go up to our room for a moment, but I'll be right back. Stay here."

"Hurry back, dear," Q said sarcastically with a wave.

Shien held his breath, masking his growing frustration, and disappeared to carry out his drug deal.

"Ya finished that already?" the barkeep inquired as she wiped down the counter with long movements of her right arm that exposed a large portion of her breasts. "Want me t' get ya another?" Q nodded enthusiastically, and she took his glass to refill it.

As he waited, the former entity chewed on the stem of his cherry and passively observed the movements of those around him. The bar itself was noisy with the voices of dozens of conversations made louder by the commotion of the blaring music from the nightclub in the adjacent chamber.

At one table, a diverse group of life forms played a holographic card game Q was unable to recognize, their laughs and curses resonating over the roar. Across the room, a trio of lowlifes were debating whether or not the universe was shrinking or expanding and getting it quite wrong. Nearby, a man was breaking up with his girlfriend, who pitifully sobbed into her beer glass. It was all rather entertaining, especially with the vodka making its way through his virgin blood stream.

"What the hell is that shit, Kalleg?" a Ferengi at the card-playing table sneered. "You're raising only five fucking slips? What kind of a pussy bet is that? You're a fucking pussy, Kalleg."

"Fuck you," Kalleg replied. "Fuck. You."

It was then that he noticed a group of four Coverians approach the bar and order a round of the strongest Cardassian ale. Each man, though shorter than the average human, boasted a more robust musculature that convinced many men surrounding the area to keep their distance. Q recalled from his latent memory that the Coverians were a crude, belligerent race similar to that of Klingons. But while Klingon culture stressed honor, Coverian culture revered masculinity with an equal amount of vehemence, all of which became clear as the four brawny Coverians roared boisterously and flexed their muscles at the nearby females, swigging their alcohol and bursting into low guffaws when some was carelessly spilled over their slovenly armor.

Q casually sipped at his cocktail as he watched the Coverians brutishly exhibit their virility. He did not know exactly why he did it; perhaps it was boredom and he wanted to gage their reaction, or perhaps it was the alcohol or the dormant desire to exhibit his own dominance. Either way, when he said it, he immediately knew he had made a grave tactical error.

"Cardassian ale?" Q drawled, flashing the Coverians his usual insolent smirk. "Isn't that...a pussy's drink?"

As expected, the four Coverian men immediately fell silent; a silence that Q knew meant future pain for himself. Yet for some reason, he was not finished dealing out the insults.

One Coverian narrowed his eyes, speaking harsh and deliberately. "What did you say?"

"Didn't hear me?" he replied, unconsciously slipping into the common Dessican dialect. "Yer senses aren't diminished too, are they? Shame t' be a pussy and feeble."

The four Coverians roared furiously at that, shaking their fists and grunting aggressively. "Fucking human trash!" The first one bared his teeth. "We shall see who's feeble when we beat yer ass!"

Another Coverian moved forward and took a combat stance. "I'm gonna rip out yer goddamn eyeballs and skull-fuck you!"

Q winced. "Seems harsh for just calling you a pussy. Are ya overcompensating fer something?"

"Raargh!" The second Coverian snarled in fury and swung at the human's head with fists the size of his head. Q saw it coming and somersaulted off the barstool and jumped to his feet in time to brutally kick the creature in the side of the head with his boot, easily done due to his taller stature. The Coverian crumpled to the floor from the force of the blow and Q beamed in triumph.

Witnessing the human strike their comrade, the Coverian warriors were immediately engaged. One moved to deck him with a savage lunge, but Q, his training kicking in, avoided the potentially devastating swipe and returned it with his own punch squarely in his jaw.

Unfortunately, the attack did not even faze his brawny opponent, and before he could respond, the human found his arms being viciously grabbed and pinned behind his back by another Coverian. He cried out, feeling his shoulders being brutally separated, and attempted another maneuver to free himself from the creature's hold. But before he could, the Coverian he had punched socked him in the face, immediately knocking him unconscious and causing his entire body to go limp.

The patrons watching the bar fight clapped briefly before returning to their previous actions.

Not finished redeeming his manhood, the Coverian jabbed the human in the stomach several times before gesturing his companion to release his arms. Incapable of breaking his own fall, Q dropped to his knees and landed on his face at their feet with a thump.

"Who's a pussy now, eh? Pitiful human."

The Coverian Q had kicked stood up, and was about to put a boot in the unconscious human's ribs when a voice cut through the silence of the bar.

"Don't you dare," Shien warned, blaster pistol in hand. He gestured with the nozzle threateningly. "Back off."

Noticing the serious glint in the Aldreenian's eyes, the Coverians backed away from Q's body with low growls and moved to another part of the bar where no one would have witnessed what had just occurred.

Holstering his weapon, Shien rushed to Q's fallen body and gently rolled him over onto his back, resting the man's lax head in his lap. The lower portion of his face was soaked in blood that still flowed from his injured nose. Luckily, nothing seemed to be broken.

"Here." The bartender walked over and knelt down beside the unconscious Q and began to wipe his face with a wet rag. "There," she said once the blood had been cleaned off. "Ya should try an' wake him. He took a pretty nasty blow t' the head."

Shien nodded and began to gently pat the sleeping human's cheeks. "Abel. Abel. Wake up!" After the seventh slap, Q's eyes slowly began to open and come into focus. Not satisfied, the Aldreenian dealt a final strike that caused Q to gasp in surprise and sit up abruptly.

"What?" He blinked in bewilderment, the room spinning. "What happened?"

"Whoa there, calm down." Shien looked into Q's eyes closely, finding himself absently wishing that Trent was here. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Q hmphed, taking umbrage at having his intelligence insulted. "I may not be omnipotent, but I can still count! I'm no simpleton."

Shien smiled nervously at the puzzled bartender. At least his memory was intact. "I wasn't saying you are, Abel. Just humor me. How many fingers?"

"'How many fingers?' he says." Q rolled his eyes dramatically. "Four."

"Uhm, I'm holding up only two, Abel."

Q recoiled in horror, narrowing his eyes at the raised fingers. "You're right..." his voice was distressed at the abrupt realization. He took a deep breath to steady the intense vertigo, and wiped beads of sweat from his brow. "Only two."

"He must have a concussion," the woman observed matter-of-factly.

"What's a concussion?" Q shuddered at the fear of having contracted a dreadful, terminal disease that rendered him incapable of counting correctly.

She shrugged, standing up. "I think it's when yer brain hits th' side of yer skull and gets bruised." She sauntered back behind the counter. "It should heal in a few days I 'spose. Ya want another drink?"

Q clutched at the sides of his head protectively, wailing. "You mean my brain is wounded?" The horrible thought of having his most prized body part damaged brought tears to his eyes.

"You'll be fine," Shien soothed calmly as he helped the disoriented former entity to his barstool, the sensation of déjà vu numbing the back of his mind. "How do you feel? Is anything sore?"

"Just my pride," the other grumbled sourly. "And everything else."

"Would you like to tell me how in the time it took me to hook up my scummy friend with a bag of andris, you managed to get in a potentially deadly fight with four Coverians?"

Q mumbled into his hand, garbling the words. "I called them pussies." Never mind that he did not quite know what that meant.

Shien actually choke-laughed. "Fuck. That would do it. What the hell were you thinking? They would have killed you, you know."

"And not just stopped there, apparently," Abel added dryly. "I don't know why I said it."

"I think I do. Oh shit, you're bleeding again."

"What?" Q sniffed and felt at his nose and flinched as he saw the slick crimson fluid on his fingertips. "Eww!"

"Here/" Shien held out a bar napkin. "Use this to pinch your nose until the bleeding stops." When the human only looked bewildered and frightened by the blood flowing from his open wound, he gently took the napkin and squeezed it around Q's nose. "Breathe through your mouth. Good."

Once the bleeding had ceased and the former entity was calmed, Shien slid off his stool.

"Anyway," he said, "I didn't bring you here to celebrate your advancement in the field of combat only to have your brains nearly splattered by four insulted Coverians. Follow me." He clasped Q by the hand and cautiously led him in the direction in which the music was emanating.

Once entering the nightclub, it took Q's already dazed eyesight several minutes to adjust to the black lights that illuminated the ballroom. Along three of the walls, there was an elevated stage where a number of female bodies were hypnotically swaying to the beat of the music. The center of the room was clear of all tables, enabling both sober and intoxicated patrons to dance uninhibited in any particular manner they desired. A mass of huddled, disorderly bodies moved together to the tempo, and both men chose to cautiously avoid it.

Shien sat down at a table at the front of one of the raised stages. "I'm impressed, you handled yourself much better this time than in your fight with the Klingons."

"What?" Q yelled.

"I said," Shien raised his voice to override the loud music, "you handled yourself very well against those Coverians, all things considered."

Q allowed a brief smile, preening. "I would have won if they hadn't so unfairly besieged me."

Shien held out his arms expansively. "Welcome to Dessica II and, particularly, mortal life; where fairness loses all meaning." He pointed with his chin toward the stage. "How do you like the place?"

Following his gaze, Q watched as a young woman in high heels twirled around a pole that for some reason was embedded between the floor and ceiling. A moment ago, he could have sworn she was fully clothed, but now she was missing her skirt, which lay at her feet. Matching the rhythm of the music, the woman entwined her legs around the pole and began to perform acrobatics that seemed like inhuman feats, then returned to the ground to twist her body in an alluring manner and slowly undo the fastenings of her shirt, exposing her breasts and made a face as if she was surprised to see them. Under the black lights, her skin appeared smooth and flawless, devoid of blemishes.

Q frowned as she then bent down on all fours and began to shake them directly in the face of a man at an adjacent table, who grinned lewdly. "Is it common for women to behave like this?" He never recalled Councilor Troi ever randomly removing her clothing and parading around the _Enterprise _to exhibit her naked body to the crew. Perhaps the presence of music played a significant role.

"They're strippers, Q," Shien elaborated patiently into his ear. "They take off their clothes and dance for profit. It's entertainment." He failed to mention that the majority of the strippers here were also prostitutes.

The man who had received an eyeful of the stripper's breasts threw a number of latinum slips onto the stage for her to retrieve at the end of her performance. Swaying her hips, the woman began to slide her panties off as well, until she was fully nude and struck several poses that displayed her genitals. Smirking seductively, she began to touch herself in her various erogenous zones and made facial expressions that exaggerated her pleasure, all of which Q found strangely hypnotic. Part of him understood why mortals would actually pay to view this debauchery.

Then, to his chagrin, the stripper started in his direction, mimicking her previous action with the other client, but this time coming towards him crotch first with the intention of wrapping both her legs around his back as she had done before with the pole. Eyes widened in horror, Q hastily slid his chair back to avoid the confrontation, not caring how ridiculous he looked. Luckily, the stripper seemed un-offended by the gesture and returned to the stage to finish her act.

Breathing hard, Q slowly allowed himself to relax once realizing a disaster had been averted, then glared at Shien, who had immediately burst out laughing. He moved to stand. "I've had enough of this base spectacle. I'm leaving."

The Aldreenian struggled to contain himself, catching the other by the wrist. "Abel, we just got here! C'mon, sit back down and relax. I promise nothing like that will happen again."

Q was not convinced. "Promise?"

Shien nodded vigorously. "Promise." As the human reluctantly returned to his seat, the smuggler mused to himself. Not close to drunk enough. He made a signal to a nearby waiter.

A scantily-clad man appeared to cheerfully take their order. "What do you desire, sir?"

"Six shots of Romulan ale, if you please." The waiter left to fulfill the order and promptly returned with six shot-glasses of a blue liquid. "All right," Shien started, arranging three glasses in front of himself and the remainder before his companion. "We're going to play a little game. For every shot I take, you take one."

"I'm not getting drunk and making a fool of myself," Q stated.

Shien made a dismissive gesture. "There are only three shots for each of us. Does that seem like that much alcohol?"

Q sniffed timidly at one of the glasses, but knowing little as he did about alcohol, he supposed that Shien would not lie and that three insignificant shots would not be substantial enough to inebriate a man of his size. Mimicking the Aldreenian's movements, he raised his first shot in the air and tipped his head back in one movement, the smooth alcohol rolling down his throat. Immediately, his mouth was assaulted with the most disgusting taste he could ever imagine, and the heat of the alcohol scalded the back of his throat as he forced himself to quickly swallow the noxious fluid and not spit it out in repulsion. Having emptied the glass, Q contorted his face and stuck out his tongue, gagging as the foul taste still lingered in his mouth.

Coughing, Shien set down his glass and took a deep breath as they both recovered. He flashed a smile, his perfect white teeth glowing mysteriously under the black lamps, and expertly downed his remaining shots. Folding his hands under his chin, he smirked expectantly at the disgruntled human. "Your turn. Drink up."

Rubbing at the spot below his clavicle absently, his esophagus still burning as if he had swallowed acid, Q scowled down at the alcoholic beverages, and they winked up at him innocently. He swore he could feel the alcohol trailing down his digestive tract and resting in his stomach. Holding his breath, he gulped down both shots and shuddered, stifling the instinctive urge to vomit.

"Tastes like shit, eh?"

"What's in this stuff?" Q whined, scratching at his tongue in the vain attempt at removing the nasty taste. "Ground Romulan?"

"Would explain why the Federation banned it," Shien said wryly. "What you need is a good chaser." He signaled the waiter again. "One Yalotta nectar."

A moment later, the man set the pink concoction in front of Q, who timidly sipped at it through the straw. Finding the juice sweet and soothing, he promptly finished it.

"It's made from the fruit of the Yalotta plant," Shien elaborated. "It will neutralize the corrosive compounds in the alcohol so you don't throw up." That, and if the Romulan ale failed to get him thoroughly drunk, the Yalotta would. Before the human could utter an expression, the Aldreenian had once again grabbed him by the wrist and started dragging him onto the dance floor.

Q, a warm rush flowing over him, lazily allowed himself to be forced onto the dance floor. The room seemed to revolve around him on its own accord, and his legs felt like they were wadding through a pool of ooze. He warned, "I can't...dance."

Shien watched the human stumble across the room and trip over a nonexistent object in a brilliant show of lack of coordination, and smiled inwardly. "Neither can most people. It's not a prerequisite."

The song suddenly changed, and as a result, so did the movements of the gyrating bodies. Q found himself wedged in a pit of human flesh, as excited individuals jumped and catapulted themselves into him at the rapid pulse of each beat. For some reason, he found himself responding to the contagion of exhilaration and slowly began to stir his own limbs back and forth. In the back of his mind, Q knew he should be terrified of this loss of control over his movements, but that voice was instantly overrode by an intense sense of giddiness and the playful urge to join them in their erratic dancing. At the loss of his capabilities for higher thought, instinct took command.

Springing along with his fellow mortals without regret, Q twisted around to find Shien standing behind him, the Aldreenian's blue eyes fixed on him in an intent, wide-eyed stare. Wordlessly, Shien cut through the crowd as if their presence were a mere inconvenience. Once they were facing each other, he continued to creep closer to the other's relaxed body until they were an inch from touching. They locked eyes, and he yelled up at the former entity, "You seem to be enjoying yourself...for someone who would consider himself above such lowly mortal acts as dancing."

"You should take it as a compliment," Q said, his voice low and seductive, "that I'm stooping to your level."

Shien raised a brow, closing the distance between them so that their hips were swaying together along with rhythm of the crowd. The thick body heat emanating from the multitude of entangled mortal forms made it difficult to breathe, and he could clearly discern beads of sweat appearing along Q's forehead on account of the rising, oppressive humidity.

Although his Aldreenian genetics enabled him to consciously control the amount of alcohol that was absorbed into his bloodstream so that he felt only half the effects of the mead and Romulan ale he had consumed, it was clear that his human companion was having difficulty standing up, much less thinking clearly. In fact, if it had not been for the omnipresence of the bodies closing in around them, Shien was sure Q would have fallen over by now. He decided to take advantage of it.

Their eyes locked, Shien slowly began to wrap his arms around Q's waist, drawing him closer. He leaned his face into his chest, breathing deeply, smelling him. Q moaned inaudibly, and, acting on impulse rather than conscious willingness, responded to the action by slowly grinding his hips against the smaller man with a sudden, intense need. Smirking mischievously to himself, Shien reached around and began to massage the inside of Q's thigh. As expected, the human cried out and arched his back and reflexively grabbed the Aldreenian by the ass. Gasping, Shien carefully inched the hand higher until it was gently tracing the crotch of Q's pants, feeling the man's arousal pressing against his own.

Q was leaning towards him expectantly, his dark eyes wide and dilated. He seemed to want something, but did not know what or how to act on the desire. Throbbing music and his throbbing erection pressing him on, Shien licked his lips, and grabbed Q by the neck, gently guiding his face closer to his own. Tentatively, their lips grazed each other, and Shien's neurons sung in pleasure as he felt the hands around his ass getting tighter and Q beginning to respond. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Shien extended his tongue and--

"Sh'en!" a woman's voice cried out through the noise and he felt a hand grasp him by the arm and pull him away. The hands clutching his buttocks suddenly fell away.

Shien's nostrils flared. "God fuck it!" he mouthed under his breath in absolute fury. Abruptly, he turned around and snarled, "_What_?"

"Sh'en!" A Bajoran woman in a skin-tight red mini-dress waved, oblivious to his frustration. "I knew it was you! How long have ya been here? Well? Aren'tcha gonna introduce us to yer friend?" Before the other could respond, she gestured to another woman beside her. "This is my cousin, Kaela."

"Asangi," Shien whimpered as his erection evaporated. Distantly, he could still feel Q's arousal against his back. Heaving another long-suffering sigh, he gestured behind himself. "Abel Keynan, this is Asangi Baan, prostitute."

She winked at Q. "How're you tonight, darling? Fuck, yer a big one."

Shien ground his teeth, containing his rabid indignation with a blank mask. He felt Q slur something into his ear, and the warmth of his breath made the back of his neck tingle. The Yalotta was reaching its peak.

"Hey, Asangi," the second prostitute yelled, then quieted her voice as the song abruptly changed to a lower pitch. "Why don' we talk to these boys somewhere quieter?"

"Good idea, Kaela." Shooting Shien a pointed look, she wound her way through the crowd with the other trailing behind her, and entered the bar without another word. She did not even glance over her shoulder, as if knowing he would follow.

It was difficult returning to the apartment given Q's inability to enunciate, much less walk correctly. Half-supporting the inebriated human on his shoulder, he helped his companion stumble back to their home.

Once inside, the Kaela woman immediately took Q by the hand and escorted him to his bedroom. Dazed, he followed her without a second thought, and the door closed behind them.

"Thanks fer getting him drunk ahead of time," the remaining prostitute was saying. "That makes it so much easier."

Clenching his teeth, Shien whirled her. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

Taken aback, Asangi frowned. "Doin' ya a favor, I thought--"

"Enough with the fucking slang! It's pissing me off."

"Okay." She set her jaw. "Look, last week you told me you wanted to celebrate your friend's accomplishments or something--"

"Last time I tell you anything..."

"And you mentioned he was a virgin an' all, so I--"

"--Took it upon yourself to hire one of your dirty friends to molest him?" He threw his hands into the air. "Really, I did not need your help."

"Hey, Kaela's clean. You know I wouldn't sic a cheap whore on your friend, especially as a gift." She set her hands on her narrow hips, the numerous silver bracelets around her wrists jingling together from the movement. Bracelets that Shien knew covered numerous scars. "I don't see what your problem is. You told me your friend needed to get laid. What the hell was I supposed to think?"

Shien said nothing and slowly paced across the room, brooding. She had a point there. He couldn't possibly expect her to understand what his true intentions had been. "I apologize," he amended silently, his back facing her. "I should have not confided in you. You can go, Asangi." Without turning around, he entered his bedroom, tossing his helmet on the bed in dejection. "I'd rather...be alone."

"What'd'ya mean, 'confide'?" she interjected, steadfastly following him into the bedroom to his dismay. "What are you talking about? I'm not gonna go until you tell me."

"I--" He cut himself off and examined her a moment, staring into her blackened eyes, taken aback that someone was suddenly exhibiting genuine interest in his own affairs. Looking away, he crept up to the wall that separated Q's room from his own and pressed his ear against its surface. Through the thin wall material, he could make out the distinct sound of Q's bedsprings squeezing together under a weight and the rustling of another body on the mattress. "He just sat down on the bed."

"Huh? How did--?" Asangi's eyes lit up in comprehension. "Ohh." To his amusement, she actually appeared embarrassed.

"'Ohh' what?"

"Nothing. It's just...I somehow figured you were jealous because I got your friend a prostitute before you did. I didn't know you were jealous 'cause you wanted to do him yourself."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

She flopped onto the bed and laid there a moment, staring at the stained ceiling. "So, how long have you felt that way about him?"

"Since the beginning."

"Ah."

Shien nodded. "Ah, indeed."


	7. Chapter 7

After the effects of the drugs and alcohol had run their course, Q awoke in the middle of the night with an intense throbbing at his temples. Rolling over onto his side, his entire body protested, muscles aching painfully. Sitting up, he whimpered and groaned. "What the hell is wrong with this body _now_?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Q sighed in relief as he found the other side of his bed empty. Good, he did not need that woman here to remind him of the crime against omnipotent superiority he had just committed. He did _not _want to remember how he had just debased himself, and how in his weakened state he had actually _enjoyed_ it. Moreover, in his distant subconscious, he did not want to be tempted again.

Weakened in his post-inebriated state, he half-stumbled, half-crawled to the balcony as quickly as possible since it was significantly closer than the bathroom. Hands clutching the balustrade to keep his body aloft, he dry-heaved in utter agony for what seemed like hours. Like a sneeze that diminishes before the climax, this dry-heaving effort left him empty and unfulfilled. How pointless.

Clenching his teeth to stabilize himself against the disorientation, Q shivered against the cold breeze sweeping across the terrace, flinging specks of rain in his face. He closed his eyes until his skin detected that the gust had passed, and reopened his eyes to be confronted with a sudden brightness in the night sky. The sickly clouds of pollution that usually obstructed all vision of the outside universe had parted, exposing a section of black sky dotted with glinting stars. He smiled bitterly. He knew those stars well, distant memories flooding back to him. In some stroke of irony, he could even make out Earth's dim star hidden behind the wispy tentacle of a cirrus, taunting him.

The skin on his upper left arm tingled, and Q looked on in surprise as the fingers of his right hand quickly moved to scratch at the nuisance through no effort of his own. The itching sensation was instantly squelched. He frowned at the casual action. Although he was sure that he had preformed similar reflexes in the past weeks of his human life, this was the first time he had taken notice.

Q cast another glance at the overcast night sky before padding back to his bed.

* * *

The metal spoon clanked against the side of Shien's ceramic mug as he stirred his morning coffee. The women had left in the middle of the night, fleeing like ghosts at the sight of sunlight, apparently.

He made out the sound of movement inside Q's room as the other man woke up after a long night. At the thought, Shien scowled and the spoon clanked louder. He crumbled a cube of pure Yalotta spice into his drink.

The door to Q's room opened and the bedraggled human stumbled out, his robe tightly wrapped around his tall form protectively. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes in a daze and announced, "I feel terrible."

Shien mentally forced the jealous glare to slowly dissipate from his face. "That's your body telling you that you enjoyed yourself a little too much last night."

"Hmph. If that is considered enjoyment..." He trailed off and licked his dried lips. "I'm thirsty."

Q looked around the kitchen for a moment and instantly spotted a mug of liquid in front of Shien. Perfect, he needed to wake up. Without asking as usual, he snatched the coffee and downed it in three gulps.

Shien flinched, his mouth twisted in an uncomfortable grimace as he watched Q consume an entire gram of pure Yalotta spice in one sitting. "Uhm."

The human set the empty container down, oblivious, and sighed. "I needed that."

"Uhm, Q..."

"Last night was horrendous, and I'm holding you entirely responsible." He opened and closed the cupboards absently. "Good will notwithstanding, your friends are coercive perverts. I'm just glad I don't remember most of--" Q cut himself off and frowned, feeling his mind fog over. A familiar sensation he had felt when...he slowly turned toward Shien.

"Q, there was Yalotta spice in that coffee."

"You tried to drug me? _Again?_"

"Q, that was_ my _coffee!"

"You purposely...set it out there..." He swayed slightly and supported his weight on the counter. "...for me to drink!"

"Now even in this state, you should know that's bullshit," Shien said mildly as he took Q by the shoulders and guided him the couch. The human protested slightly but quickly acquiesced.

"It wasn't so much bullshit last night," Q said.

Shien spun towards him. "What do you mean by that?"

Q smirked at the response. "I could have sworn you were attempting to take.._.advantage_ of me."

"You must have misinterpreted my actions. I had as much to drink as you." He immediately felt guilty for lying to Q, but what could he say? Was he to outright admit that the only way he could convince people to sleep with him was through inebriation?

"Hm. Surely you must have an antidote!"

"An antidote? Even if there _were_ such a thing, why would I, of all people, carry it around with me?"

"What? I suppose--" Q stared at the ceiling, which appeared to move on its own even when he kept his eyes stationary. "What were we talking about?"

Shien smiled, leaving the room. "I'll have to contact Dren. I don't think you'll be fit to practice martial arts today."

The comment was only acknowledged with an indifferent "hmph" from the relaxed human lounging on the furniture. At that moment, Q did not feel anything except warm contentment. He smiled. As he mentally floated in the wonderful limbo between idiotically inebriated and depressingly sober, Q realized that he could live with being human as long as he was unable to fully comprehend the harrowing state of his mortality. He took a deep breath. Every sensation from the smell of the mildewed air to the touch of the velveteen fabric underneath his fingertips elicited an exciting tingling throughout his body. Mortal vitality seemed to course through his veins. All suicidal and self-loathing misanthropic considerations faded, pushed aside and ignored.

So this was why Shien and the other mortals were so tolerant of their finiteness. He never noticed Picard, Riker, Worf, Troi or any of the other crewmembers of the Enterprise self-administering drugs to fend off the realities of mortality. But then again, in his omnipotence he had never paid much attention.

Q sighed, the fingers of his left hand drifting from their position on the couch to the crotch of his pants. He moaned quietly, his hand gently rubbing the cloth covering his stiffening organ. Closing his eyes, he focused on the warm pleasurable heat spreading across his body as he stroked himself, throwing his head back and arching his back as he panted.

Shien strolled into the room, switching off his communicator. He suddenly halted mid-step as he heard a soft groan emanate from the opposing couch.

Shien's entire body went ridged at the murmur, his cock hardening. Recovering himself immediately, he stepped forward and peered over the back of the couch. There was Q, massaging himself through his pants without a seeming care. The Aldreenian bit his lip, unable to tear his eyes away, watching with increasing desire.

This was wrong. This wasn't the way he wanted it.

Balling his hands into fists, Shien marched to the kitchen and noisily clashed together pots and dishes in the sink. At the sudden commotion, Q jolted abruptly, looking up.

"Ahm. Dren says he expects to see you tomorrow, considering he has a fixed lesson plan." He drew out a skillet and began the process of frying eggs.

Q stood, resting his fists on his hips. "I'm perfectly fine."

Shien glanced up and examined the human a moment in surprise. He raised an eyebrow. "You certainly recovered yourself quickly."

"I think I conquered the effects of your little narcotic. It must only work on the weak willed."

"I can't believe you built a tolerance already...that was just your third dose. And it's been in a different setting each time..."

"What do you mean, 'tolerance'?" Q pressed, dread growing in the pit of his stomach. "What are you not telling me?"

Scrambling the eggs with a knife edge, Shien made certain to avoid eye contact with the human. "Building a tolerance to a drug...any substance...is a normal response--"

"You say that about_ everything_!"

"That's because you haven't encountered anything abnormal yet. You just act like it is." Q folded his arms over his chest and shot him a petulant look, and Shien continued. "When you take a drug or any foreign substance that taxes your system, your body develops a tolerance for it, and over time it takes a larger amount of the drug to produce the same effect."

"So that evolutionary adaptation of conditioning, the ability to survive in extreme conditions and endure malignant stimuli, is what you humanoids refer to as tolerance?" Q shook his head. It would take him the rest of his mortal life to be able to comprehend the vast and annoying complexities of this life form.

Shien laughed. "You could say that your so-called evolutionary adaptation is what keeps me in business. It's an investment, really. When I meet a new client, I always know that when they return-- and they _always_ do-- they'll want more." Carefully, he dished the eggs on two plates and displayed them on the table, and took a seat.

Q followed suit, dousing his eggs with a hefty amount of pepper and began to shovel the yellow fluff into his mouth. They ate in an uncomfortable silence for a long moment before the human said, "What is it you do when I'm not around?"

"You--you want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"I--I'm a pharmaceutical supplier."

"Ah. A euphemism for drug dealer. How shocking."

"You can call it what you like, it makes little difference. What matters is that it feeds us and ensures that our landlords won't murder us for being late on the rent."

"Lovely." Q poked at a stray morsel of bread with his fork. He glanced up to see Shien glaring off at a faraway corner. Seeing the Aldreenian uncharacteristically infuriated sent a shiver down his spine.

Shien took a deep breath to steady himself. "I'm sorry that my chosen career is not glamorous enough for you." He stood up, tossing his half-empty plate in the sink. "If you're so unimpressed by my efforts, maybe you would do better fending for yourself." Fuming, he stalked out of the room.

Q jumped in his seat as he heard Shien kick a crate across his bedroom and curse loudly. He looked down at his breakfast questioningly. "What's wrong with him?"

* * *

Someone was watching him.

Shien jumped from his bed in surprise to find Q, dressed in only his pajama pants, towering over him. He clasped a hand to his chest, gasping. "Q. It's three in the morning. Wh-what are you doing here? How did you get in?"

He gaped as the human suddenly collapsed to his knees, clutching his head in agony, tears in his eyes. "It," Q whispered. "It..."

"Go on," Shien urged softly.

"It feels...like...my brain is going to...explode in my skull!"

Shien gently held Q's trembling shoulders, trying to look into the other's eyes, but they were clenched shut in pain. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," Q gasped. "Can't sleep...muscles...on fire. It's-- it's intolerable. I can't...I can't..."

"Open your eyes." Slowly, Q obeyed. Shien winced, finding them bloodshot. "Fuck. Now_ this_ is abnormal. You should not be getting withdrawal symptoms this early. Yalotta is highly addictive, but not _that_ addictive." This was quite strange. But, Shien reasoned, Q's new body was not used to foreign substances in his bloodstream. Perhaps that had something to do with his reaction.

Q shivered and wiped cold sweat from his brow with a shaking hand.

Standing, the smuggler frantically began to scavenge his room, wildly overturning containers and scattering flotsam and other debris onto the floor. "Shit," he hissed as he cut his hand on a stray piece of glass. Ignoring the fresh blood seeping from the open wound, he uncovered a hypospray, inserted a cartridge of clear, liquid Yalotta, set the dosage, and pressed the implement against Q's exposed neck.

The effect was immediate. The muscles of the human's shoulders relaxed, and he blinked as relief flooded over him. His breathing steadied from the flustered panting, as his skin returned to its normal pink hue. Recovering himself, Q looked up at Shien in confusion.

The Aldreenian nodded stiffly, focusing on the empty hypospray in his hand. "I suppose," he said, laughly dryly, "I might as well add you to my list of clients now."

* * *

A second month passed on Dessica II with still no word from the _Anathema_.

On his way back to the apartment from that day's training session, Q entered the underground global network of mass transportation vehicles and boarded his designated anti-grav train. Taking a seat on the far side of the transport away from the crowd, he pulled out a plastic bag from his pocket and regarded its contents thoughtfully.

"This is pure Yalotta spice," Shien had said the morning after his first episode of withdrawal, handing him the sack of narcotics. "Each cube is one gram. You can mix it in liquids, or take it by itself, it doesn't matter. Never, and I mean _never_ take more than you are accustomed to, even if you don't feel it working. If you feel withdrawal pangs, take a little more, but at this point don't take more than one gram a day. Also, don't take it in the same location at the same time every day. The moment you change locations after being used to taking it in the same place, you risk overdose."

Q looked up from his reflection to find two men and a Klingon woman staring at him from across the train. Although he still had trouble reading humanoid body language, he could distinctly tell their demeanor was threatening. Then again, when _weren't _Klingons threatening? Each was dressed in extravagant clothing and the men carried energy weapons at their sides. Shien had warned him that inevitably he would encounter an artifact smuggler, and had informed him of the ridiculous yet heated war between the artifact and drug traffickers. Slowly, he pocketed the bag and folded his hands in his lap.

Exchanging glances with each other, the three smugglers approached him cautiously. "We haven't seen you on this train before." The woman noted his clothing. "Are you aligned with Sal Shien?"

Crossing his arms over his chest in a grand display of calm, Q leaned back in his seat. "Who?"

"Don't be cute with me. I don't have the patience. You're not supposed to be here."

"Is this the time when you tell me that I'm trespassing on your precious territory and threaten me with bodily harm?"

The three exchanged looks again, and one of the men grunted. "Sort of."

"I want nothing to do with your trivial feud."

"Too bad for you," the woman said. "Deaths without a cause are the most unfortunate sort."

At that, the rest of the transport's occupants backed away from the four figures.

Q stood. It took all his concentration to suppress the growing anxiety he was feeling, and to stifle the reflexive urge to flee. At that moment, the only detail forcing him to stand his ground was the fact that he had no where to run to.

He read their plan of attack immediately. The two men were going to grab him by the wrists, wrestle him to the ground and subdue him, allowing the woman to slit his throat with the ceremonial _D'k tahg_ knife she was concealing in her right hand. How charming.

Both men started forward at the same time, moving in to seize the outnumbered human. But by then, Q had already brushed past them with the simple shuffle of his feet, and, catching the first man by the wrist and grabbing the back of his neck, flung him into his companion, causing them to lose their footing and stumble over. They quickly recovered their balance and blindly charged toward their prey once again.

Which was fine with Q. He had already drawn his blaster, set on medium, and remembered the instructions Shien had given him on operating the weapon and how to aim. The first burst was a clear miss, blowing off the second man's arm at the elbow instead of hitting the first man in the chest as he had intended. A second shot leveled the first man.

The Klingon woman visibly balked for a brief moment before launching herself at him with her knife. With one hand occupied, Q could only side-step the attack. Missing her target, the woman staggered forward, exposing her back. Clasping both his hands around the butt of the pistol, Q brutally whacked her between the shoulder blades, driving her to the ground face-first.

A stray disruptor blast suddenly collided with the wall of the train, narrowly missing him. One of the wounded men had found his weapon, and the second was in the process of searching for his own. Increasing the setting on his phaser, Q finished the task he had left half-completed.

The Klingon woman grunted as she attempted to grasp for her dagger, which lay a meter away from her outstretched hand. Q stooped and picked it up.

He examined the sharpened blade with a lack of curiosity. "Ah! A _D'k tahg_ knife. Why, isn't it an insult to a warrior's honor for it to enter another's possession?"

"You bastard!" she growled, rising to her feet. "I'll kill you!"

"With what? Your fangs?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, please. Spare me your desperate attempt at humor. I've seen humans with sharper teeth than yours." She snarled at him, preparing to attack again, when the train abruptly stopped. A pair of doors hissed open, and Q darted through them. "That's my stop! Tell your artifact-plundering companions I said 'hello'!"

He turned around on the other side to watch the transport speed away. Thankfully, she had not followed him. Expelling the deep breath he had been holding, Q allowed a brief smile. It had been frightening, he had feared for his life. Why did that make his triumph all the more rewarding?

Stepping into the apartment moments later, he was immediately assaulted with the sulfuric stench of smoke. Glancing around briefly, he caught sight of the prostitute, Asangi, in the living area, lounging on the couch with a thin cylinder between the fingers of her right hand. In Q's opinion, that woman hung around here much too often. He watched as she put the cylinder to her mouth, pulled from it, and held her breath. A number of seconds later, she exhaled, green smoke escaping her nostrils. Noticing Q standing in the doorway, she offered the device to him.

He wrinkled his nose. "What is that stench?"

"Andris," she stated, still holding out the cylinder. "Good shit."

Q approached her, taking the device from her outstretched hand. He briefly analyzed the sleek design and inner mechanisms of the pipe before stepping back and throwing it out the opposite window. Distantly, he could hear it shatter against the stone.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" she exclaimed, rushing to the window. "What's wrong with you? That was worth at least one hundred latinum strips! Plus the cost of the andris..."

He regarded her with scorn. "Where is Shien?"

"He said he was running errands, or something."

How disappointing. Who was he supposed to boast about his victory to now?

"I think," Asangi added, "he mentioned meeting you at the Crimson Black-hole Barroom tonight."

Q paused. "What the hell are you doing here anyway, woman? Isn't your pimp looking for you?"

Most women would have slapped him for that. In fact, he had been expecting it. Instead, she kicked him full-force in the shin with the tip of her boot. He cried out and clutched his injured lower leg, hopping on the other foot to maintain balance.

She glared at him. "You think you're so much better than us, don't you?"

"Only..._completely_."

"Well, I'm tired of your shit! You must believe you deserve better, huh? You must've envisioned relaxing on the beaches of Risa, livin' it up in some extravagant mansion, full of your own bullshit. Is that it? Or maybe you were a scientist on some grand space station, with everyone awed into submission by yer inhuman _brilliance_."

Q straightened, staring at her in alarm.

"But why stop there?" the Bajoran continued, leaning forward. "Maybe you expected t' be king of some lowly planet, or maybe even worshiped as a fucking god. Well," she moved forward until their noses were nearly touching, "let me tell you something that you'll never hear from Shien: yer not any more deserving of that fantasy life than_ any _of us. If you think you're gonna be rescued and live in some palace with slaves to do your bidding, you're fucking delusional. That doesn't even happen to _good_ people! You're going to die un-worshiped with the rest of us pathetic mortals, Q--"

Her last sentence was cut short as Q lashed out, smacking the impertinent Bajoran woman across the face with his open palm before he could suppress his rage. He was immediately ashamed of his brutish action and he withdrew the offending hand. He wanted to run and hide.

Asangi ignored her reddened cheek. "Not much better than th' rest of 'em, huh?"

That stung worse than the kick in the shin. "I can't believe Shien told you." Anything to blame someone else for this. Q wondered why he even cared about the woman knowing the secret of his true origin, why it was even worth keeping secret. It was shame, of course, although adopting his new alias did nothing to erase it.

"It's not like he had much of a choice," she said. "I had to know why he was hanging around with a human, considering Aldreenians tend t' be prejudiced against them. At least the ones I know." When the other raised a questioning brow, she snorted. "You have no clue, do you? I was hoping I would be able to figure out what he finds so appealing about you by coming here. So far, I'm not seeing it."

"I beg your pardon."

"Don't bother begging me for anything." She turned to leave. "And don't worry, your little secret is safe with me." Nearly out the front door, she stopped. "By the way, you owe me a new pipe."

"I'll build you a more efficient one," Q mumbled offhandedly.

Asangi eyed him a moment. Smiling slightly, she left, the door closing behind her.

Once he was alone, Q entered his bathroom and quickly showered, calming his nerves. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he removed his beard stubble, brushed his teeth and applied deodorants-- the usual bodily procedures that had now become routine. Padding into the bedroom, he laid his armor out on the coverlet, regarding the outfit thoughtfully. Was it true that Shien possessed an aversion for humans? Why, then, would the smuggler go to all the trouble of rescuing him from the Tätarians, modifying his own armor to fit him, and staying here on this cesspool of a planet to await his training? Why would Shien show him more compassion than the Continuum?

Q paused before the full-length mirror. While he was known for gazing at the reflection of his face for long durations in the bathroom mirror, for the past two months he had consciously avoided this particular fixture and had even thrown a towel over it to protect his wounded pride. Timidly, he removed the covering and studied the image staring back at him.

The scars were still there, and probably would be for the remainder of this body's existence. He could make out the muscles beginning to sculpt themselves around his arms, obliques, abdomen, legs and even his ass. He would surmount this body's limitations in no time.

Trying not to think about the rest of what the Bajoran prostitute had said earlier, Q donned his armor with renewed confidence and exited the building in the direction of Freggus' barroom.

After a number of wrong directions and instances of head-scratching, Q uncovered the familiar bar hidden among the vagrants and assorted filth. Cautiously, the former entity entered the tavern, his eyes watering at the pungent mixture of aromas combined from narcotic smoke and body odors. A number of the patrons glanced over their shoulders in his direction and immediately returned their attention to their drinks without a second thought.

Q scanned the interior, and, unable to locate Shien, took a seat at the bar. As his senses incrementally adjusted to the harsh surroundings, his muscles relaxed, allowing him to pay attention to any sign of his Aldreenian companion.

"Ah, I remember ya." A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Yer Shien's amnesiac friend, aren'tcha? The one who was nearly ground t' a pulp by a nasty group o' Klingons."

Q looked askance at him. "Yes, that's me."

"Y' don't look half as bad. My name's Freggus. What can I get ya?"

"Water."

"Big spender." The tapster grunted affably, filling up a glass.

"Minus the bacteria," Q suddenly added.

Freggus chuckled, setting the glass on the counter in front of his customer. "I make no guarantees."

Retrieving his plastic bag, the human plucked out a cube and watched it dissolve in the transparent liquid. Sipping from the glass, Q observed a blond figure approach out of the corner of his eye. He exchanged a faint smile with Shien, who slid up next to him.

"Sal, my boy," the tender greeted. "Why have y' not come by in so long? My bar not good enough fer ya any more?"

A knowing smirk spread across Shien's handsome features. "Freggus, what is your most expensive drink?"

"Ahh, I suppose that would be the alpha-current nectar."

"We'll have two of those, then. And no skimping on the nectar."

Freggus shook his head. "How d' I know yer worth it?"

Barely able to contain his excitement, the smuggler reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a large wad of latinum strips. The bartender's eyes enlarged, and Q noted many of the patrons in their immediate vicinity stare at Shien like he had just turned into a juicy steak. One even fumbled for his weapon.

Freggus rushed off and returned shortly with two blood-red beverages. The Aldreenian casually ticked off a number of strips and laid them out. "And a little extra." The remainder disappeared into his jacket.

"Where did y--"

Shien raised a finger. "You know better than to ask that." The bartender rolled his eyes and moved to attend other clientele. "Did you already dissolve a cube, Abel? No matter." He drew out two cubes from his own pouch and dropped one into his companion's drink, and the other in his own. They clicked their shot glasses together and simultaneously pitched the bitter nectar into their awaiting mouths. "So," he drawled. "How was your day? You look like you have something to tell me."

"I encountered three artifact smugglers on the subterranean transport today," Q declared casually.

"Three? You appear unmarred...you didn't fight them, did you?" When his question was answered by a pleased smile, he straightened in interest. "What happened?" The human described the brief confrontation, embellishing his feat slightly, and Shien patted him on the shoulder in congratulations. "Two men and a Klingon, eh? Those bastards deserved it. And you, the self-described pacifist, killed two of them?" He shook his head. "How does it feel to be empowered for once in a long time?"

Q flicked his empty shot glass around on its cushion nervously. It had felt much better than he was willing to admit. He had not been at all conflicted about injuring, maiming or killing those mortals. It had seemed so natural.

Shien mused, "I'll take that as a 'damn good.' Adrenaline can be just as addictive as any drug. It doesn't necessarily mean you have issues with bloodlust, though. Natural highs, I find, are the most rewarding. Of course, most normal people just receive their adrenaline rushes through sex..."

That, Q realized with discomfort, was the first time Shien had ever mentioned sex in his presence.

The Aldreenian yawned, his lithe body stretching in all directions. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't impressed by your astounding progress. You're a remarkable human, Abel."

"I am not human," Q pointed out slowly.

"Huh? Oh, I suppose you're right. You're much too intelligent and skilled."

Q bristled. "What do you mean by that?"

Shien raised a brow at the other's sudden change in tone. "I was just issuing a compliment."

"Are you insinuating that humans are somehow inferior?"

"I don't need to insinuate anything."

"Hmph." Q twisted away, folding his arms petulantly over his chest. "I'm tired of you continuously ridiculing humanity."

Shien gawked. "I don't believe this. I'm being called black by the kettle."

"Now I'm a kettle?"

Lowering his voice to a whisper, the smuggler drew the other toward him. "Q, why the hell are you suddenly being defensive? Is it the nectar?"

Q snorted. "Your trollop of a friend told me how you feel about humans."

"The way I...?" An invisible light flickered above Shien's head. "Oh." When the other's intense stare did not let up, he sighed, forced to elaborate. "I'm sure Asangi was just trying to get under your skin."

"A Regulan parasitic mite could take cues from that woman. She kicked me, you know."

"I'm sure you deserved it for whatever reason. You shouldn't be too hard on her, though. You two have a great deal in common..."

"Don't attempt to derail the subject. What basis do you, as the member of a limited species, have to criticize another similarly-limited species?"

The barstool tottered slightly as Shien changed sitting positions. "Terrans are genetically inferior!" Shien burst out as if he had been sitting on his boiling emotions for eternity. "They have almost no psychic abilities, are easily susceptible to diseases and debilitations and possess weakened senses. And yet, they have a technological monopoly over the majority of the galaxy. B-but I'm not suggesting that I think _you're_ genetically inferior to me! I-I don't even consider you as a human..."

"Then, pray tell, what am I? I'd be delighted if you would enlighten me."

"You're more capable of answering that question that me. You said it yourself-- you're not human. How am I to know what you are, if you're not even sure?"

Q lowered his attention to the filthy counter top, his mood darkening. "I am," he began, "Abel Keynan, a 42-year old human with no living relatives. I was enslaved by the Cardassians. As far as the mortal record is concerned, I did not exist prior to this point. And as far as the Continuum is concerned, I no longer exist."

Frankly, Shien was deeply perturbed by his companion's identity crisis, and wordlessly signaled to the tender for another round of drinks. Silently, he nudged the new shot glass in the other's direction. Q downed it without verbal encouragement. Tentatively, the Aldreenian laid a hand on the human's arm, and was surprised when the human didn't flinch. Granted, Q did not react at all, but that was all the encouragement Shien needed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered inaudibly under his breath, and then smiled. "I suppose you aren't in the mood then for a brawl." Noticing how the former entity's eyes raised, he continued. "I thought, since your training with Dren is nearly complete, we could test your capabilities...see if we're getting our money's worth. But it seems you've already proven yourself this afternoon."

"You were intending to instigate a fracas with these maladroit simps?"

"In a way. After waving around that latinum like a buffoon, I can guarantee that we will be ambushed once we leave."

"We don't have much of a choice then."

"That's the spirit." Shien slid off the stool gracefully, and led Q through the maze of tables and clientele toward the rear exit of the tavern.

They were only a beat away from the doors when a man slithered out from the shadows behind them and smashed a wooden chair against an unsuspecting Q's back. Instead of shattering upon impact, however, the sturdy chair remained intact and leveled the human to the floor, knocking the wind out of him.

Recovering himself, Q rolled out of the way and stumbled to his feet in time to avoid another blow from the makeshift weapon.

As Shien whirled toward the sound of his companion crying out, the heel of an open palm shot out and smacked him in the face, causing him to stagger backwards. "Argh, I didn't expect that!" He reeled, bumping into Q.

Rubbing the small of his back, the former entity shot the other a dirty look. "I'm lucky to have you to protect me." He looked around, but their attackers had hidden again.

"Thieves."

Q was about to retort about the astuteness of that observation when he caught the glint of something metallic in the darkness. Shien saw it too, his blaster jumping to his raised hands. Before he could fire a shot, however, they were swarmed by a group of lean figures, rendering any aiming impossible. Instantly, they were thrown into direct hand-to-hand combat with their attackers, trading blows.

Although the thieves must have known that Shien was carrying the coveted latinum strips, they focused their efforts on the taller, more imposing human, perceiving him as the greater threat. The three figures on Q were not particularly skilled, and he easily blended, blocked and otherwise evaded the majority of their attacks. But they had speed and numbers to their advantage. Through the flailing arms and legs, a lucky punch landed against his jaw, gnashing his teeth painfully together. Another delivered a roundhouse kick to his side. If he didn't try some offensive maneuvers soon, they were going to wear him out.

Through the jabs and kicks, Q darted his gaze to Shien. The thieves on the blond-haired Aldreenian were exchanging blows wildly, but neither seemed to be able to knock the other down by force alone. While Q's style was smoother, more calculated, spherical and deliberate, the smuggler's own technique was simply aggressive and raw. He had cast aside his blaster and was ducking and jumping to avoid his aggressors' onslaughts, to the thieves' obvious irritation.

Then, in the process of their rapid movement, Shien caught one of his attackers by the wrist and fluidly flung him over his shoulder and against a table and chairs. The man's body fell to the floor in an unpleasant heap, barely moving.

Shien evaded a kick aimed at his abdomen and smirked at his companion. "Could I borrow one of yours?"

Q clutched one thief by the back of the head and slammed his face against his knee. "I don't need your help."

"Do hurry up then." The Aldreenian decked the second thief with a brutal uppercut.

Several strikes, punches, and broken bones later, four of the thieves were unconscious and the fifth had retreated into the shadows to nurse his wounds.

Kneeling down, Shien began to frisk the clothes of the bodies for valuables, pocketing wallets, jewelry and other items that were not even originally theirs. Q chuckled.

The Aldreenian grinned, raising a bracelet into the air valued at nearly forty bars of latinum. "So," he drawled. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

* * *

"Stop fidgeting, Q!" Shien ordered. "How am I going to get this thing straight if you refuse to stand still?"

Q shifted his weight uncomfortably and glared at the mirror as the shorter man struggled to rearrange his collar and straighten his jacket. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Just about." The smuggler opened the last box and unwrapped a maroon cummerbund.

"What's that? Corsets are for women, Shien."

"It's not a corset." He pulled out a second cummerbund, a blue one, and fitted it over himself, snapping it in place. "See? It's for men."

"Aren't girdles supposed to go _under_ clothes? And I'll have you know I don't need a girdle."

"It's not a girdle!"

"What's the point in wearing it, then?"

Shien considered it. "I don't know, I don't make up the traditions, I just follow the ones I like. Look, you don't have to wear it if you don't want to, but I'm wearing mine."

Q followed the other's example and fastened his cummerbund on out of mere curiosity and appraised himself. It didn't look too bad, really. He retrieved his phaser from atop the bed comforter and positioned himself in front of the mirror with it, striking various suave poses.

Shien chuckled at the other's vanity, his eyes drifting up and down Q's body. "You look very good."

The human turned around suddenly, as if caught off guard to hear someone issue a genuine compliment about his appearance. He was about to reply when the door to the apartment chimed, cutting him off. "Who's that?"

Avoiding the question, the Aldreenian strode to the door and allowed their guest to enter.

Asangi nodded at Shien's dinner suit with satisfaction. "Very snazzy."

Hearing that familiar voice, Q burst into the foyer. "You didn't mention anything about inviting _her_!"

"Look," the Bajoran woman interrupted. "I wouldn't wanna go anywhere with you either. But it isn't every day someone invites me t' dinner, much less to dinner at an elite restaurant. So fuck off."

Q made a face. It would be impossible to get rid of her, he knew. And refusing to go himself would hardly be beneficial either. These people would be more than willing to leave him behind rather than indulge in his threats. How annoying.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Shien asked, surveying her dress. It was of a simple sort of elegance, reaching her knees and complimenting her figure, but hardly suitable for a high class restaurant.

Asangi became immediately defensive, following his critical gaze. "What's wrong with it? I've had this dress fer five years."

"Never mind, let's go." Shien filled his pockets with Deccas and they promptly made their way out the door.

The cruiser ride to their destination was long, painfully boring and uncomfortably quiet, taking nearly an hour to travel from their apartment in the wasteland city of Bal'mora to the isolated suburb of Gedena. It was apparently the only part of Dessica II not marred with pollution, choked with dilapidated buildings and overrun with poverty-stricken miscreants. Unsurprisingly, this was where all the elites resided. Gedena was surrounded in a giant wall, and it took a substantial amount of latinum for them to gain passage through.

"Well, the difficult part is over," Shien said as he parked the vehicle in a complex beside the restaurant. "No one brought any weapons with them, I expect? Because that's a good way to get yourself incinerated."

"I thought only assault and murder were considered felonies," Q said.

"In Gedena, just pointing to an elite can be construed at assault. So if they spit in your food, just eat around it."

The lush building before them was built around a large fountain unlike anything seen on Dessica II. The interior rooms were themed according to the four quadrants of the galaxy. After glancing around a moment and taking in their surroundings, they approached the front desk.

"Good evening," a man said pleasantly without a hint of sarcasm. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes." Shien smiled very widely. "Shien, party of three for twenty-one hundred."

"And what Quadrant would you like to be dining in tonight, sir?"

"Ahm...the Alpha Quadrant, preferably."

The other looked them up and down a brief moment. One suspiciously handsome, pale-skinned humanoid. One undernourished, moderately-dressed Bajoran woman. One attractive, paranoid-looking human. "May I see your identifications, please?"

They handed them over.

He surveyed each identification card and verified them. He frowned, glancing up with a different facial expression. One drug smuggler, one prostitute, and one former slave. "What a very interesting batch this is," he murmured under his breath, returning their identifications. "Follow me, then."

The steward led the trio past two Authority officers who scanned them for weapons. Finding nothing, they allowed Shien and the Bajoran woman through, but held Q longer because he "looked suspicious."

"What are you stopping me for?" Q wailed indignantly as they frisked him several times in front of everyone. "This is species-profiling!"

Turning up nothing threatening, the guards waved the insulted human away.

Q stomped to the table in which Shien and Asangi were already seated. "How dare they embarrass me like that?"

"What're you going t' do?" Asangi taunted. "Destroy them?"

"No." He took a seat at the circular table and smirked impishly at some private thought. "I'm so much more creative than that."

Shien's eyes widened in horror, fully aware of what types of mischievous and dangerous deeds his companion was capable of. "No, please don't!"

Q scowled. "Stop overreacting, I'm not going to do anything." He looked around. "So, what happens now? When does the food appear?"

"What do you mean 'what happens now'?" she asked. "Haven't you been t' a restaurant before? It's just about the same as a bar...you order when the waiter comes around and they prepare your food and serve it to you."

"And I'm supposed to just sit here and wait? I'm hungry now."

Several patrons seated at adjacent tables glanced over their shoulders before returning their attention to their food. Shien scratched the back of his neck in discomfort. Thankfully the waiter, a native Dessican, decided to show up at that moment.

"Hello, my name is Sweves," he proclaimed, "and I'll be your waiter this evening. Tonight's special is the Hasperat soufflé with sautéed vegetables." He passed out padds that held the menu items and politely inquired if they would like something to drink.

"_Kanta'ar_!" Q exclaimed.

Sweves stared at him, puzzled.

"Uhm," Shien whispered. "I don't think they serve that here."

"What? Why not?" He barely noticed his voice rise in pitch. "For what we're paying to eat in this dive, they should serve Hilgrian casserole! And the Hilgrians have been extinct for two million years!"

The Aldreenian flushed red, giving the waiter an apologetic look. "Ah, we'll have a bottle of spring wine...is that all right with you, Asangi?"

She nodded, glaring at Q.

"What year, sir?"

"I don't...the _good_ year."

"That would be the fifty-nine, sir."

"Yes, that one."

"Very good. Would you like any appetizers to start off with?"

Q twisted in his seat. "Appetizers? What's the point? How about you be a good waiter and fetch our food right now and I'll be sure he gives you a nice big tip?"

"Excuse me?" the waiter stammered.

Shien grabbed the human's arm and lowered his voice so only he could hear. "Q, if you keep harassing the waiter, I'm going to have Asangi gag you and we're going to eat our food right in front of you. You can just sit there and watch."

"That's not very nice."

"I don't want to get kicked out of the best restaurant on Dessica II!"

"This is the best restaurant?"

While the two men argued with each other, Asangi waved Sweves closer. "Don't mind them. We'll have some cava rolls, mazo stalks and oh, some veklivar! With jumja sauce for dipping!"

The ruffled waiter nodded quickly, noting the information before running off.

Q pulled himself away from the Aldreenian and shot her a dirty look. "You just ordered a bunch of Bajoran food, didn't you?"

"So?"

"I don't want Bajoran food."

"Q," Shien started. "You've never tried Bajoran food. You might like it."

"And I might find it repulsive."

"Well, you'll have to take the chance. You should be more open to trying new things. That's what you're here to do, after all."

Sweves returned promptly with the appetizers and wine, ceremoniously opening the bottle and pouring it into their glasses before he asked for their orders.

"I'll have the Remoutah special," Asangi announced.

"Big surprise," Q grumbled.

"With what type of stew? The Retamba or the Sem'hal?"

"Definitely the Retamba."

"And I'll have the Hasperat soufflé," Shien said.

The waiter looked at Q. "And you, sir?"

"Hmm." The human mulled over his menu for a moment. "I'll have..."

Shien winced, expecting the worst.

"...the Tajal special with the Zabu stew. And, ah, some Ragova eggs."

The waiter swallowed. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. And make sure they don't skimp on the Yamok sauce."

"Would you like your eggs cooked?"

Q glanced to Shien, who nodded vigorously. "Yes."

With a twitch of the eye, Sweves gathered their menus and scurried off again.

Asangi stared at him. "You prick. You ordered Cardassian food on purpose, didn't you?"

"Oh, what makes you think that? I'm just taking Sal's advice and trying something new."

Shien reached for a cava roll. "I find that hard to believe. But at least you didn't order fish juice."

Q snapped his fingers. "That's what I forgot."

"Well, while we're waiting...try these mazo stalks." He displayed the basket in front of the human to try.

Q tentatively plucked one out and sniffed at it. Finding that it didn't smell overly nauseating, he nibbled on it, considered the flavor, and swallowed.

The Bajoran woman waited as if the wrong response would be a personal insult to her entire species. "Well?"

Shien smirked, watching Q's face go utterly blank. "He likes it. He just doesn't want to admit it."

"Are your keen empathic powers telling you that?" The human sipped from his wineglass casually.

"No, I just know you."

Q pushed out his chair, moving to stand. "It's going to take forever for them to make our food. I'm going to go mingle..."

"With who?" He followed the other's gaze, to the people seated at the surrounding tables absorbed in their own conversations. "Q, you're not supposed to mingle at restaurants."

"Why not?"

"Because...it goes against social mores." When the other did not seem adequately convinced by this argument, Shien sighed, deflated. "I don't know why, it's just rude. And you'll look ridiculous if you do."

Q pouted, sitting back down. He definitely did not want do look ridiculous. "So, we're just supposed to sit here and _wait_?"

"Usually," Asangi muttered, deadpan, "people use this time t' talk to each other."

All three fell into an awkward silence and chewed on their bland appetizers, the crunching of food the only sound.

"So," Asangi drawled, "this is an elite restaurant. I've never been t' one before."

"Yes," Shien seized on this bit of conversation enthusiastically. "This is the third time I've been here. It's not exactly financially wise to indulge in elite activities on a smuggler's budget."

"Yeah," she agreed with a tint of bitterness.

"So where_ are_ these elites you're always talking about?" Q surveyed the room as if on safari, anticipating to catch one in its native habitat. "I want to see one!"

"Try not to stare too long," Shien advised. "You can usually tell just at first glance, but it takes some practice. Uhm, the man at the far left table, sitting next to the Vulcan..."

"_He's_ one?" Q wailed in disbelief.

Over the course of several minutes, the Aldreenian pointed to every elite in the room and mentioned some footnote about each individual he recognized, such as what they owned and what governing powers they held. There was very little difference in their outward appearance than that of the normal Dessican citizen except that the elites dressed better, held themselves with more poise and, according to Shien, had no accents. Q also noted with some interest that most of the elites were human and that absolutely none were from the indigenous Dessican species. Which failed to explain why the Authority guards had flagged_ him _down.

Sweves presently arrived carrying a tray of their entrees, setting each plate beside its respective owner. After asking if they needed anything else for the third time, he bustled away again to wait another table.

The Aldreenian and Bajoran stared at Q's plate, adorned in Cardassian foodstuffs, in utter apprehension. It looked terrible, and smelled even worse.

"You--" Asangi grimaced, repulsed. "You don't have to eat that just t' spite me."

"Don't flatter yourself. The gift of my spite is only reserved for the most deserving."

"You're torturing yourself more than anything else." She looked to Shien for support, wondering if Q's comment was an insult or a compliment. "Talk some sense into him. Tell him he's going t' make himself sick if he eats that shit."

Shien waved it off. "Eh, leave him alone. Let him learn what foods his body can digest, and what it can't. He has to figure out his limits for himself."

Q nodded once, satisfied. He inhaled the thick aromas emanating from his food before taking small tentative bites.

The other two picked at their own meals, their eyes focused on him as if awaiting an immanent explosion.

Swallowing a mouthful of the foul-looking fare, Q raised a brow and started eating with more gusto. "I don't see what your problem is...it tastes just fine."

Asangi stuttered. "Y-you mean you actually like it?"

"It's far superior to Shien's cooking."

"I have t' try this for myself." She reached out her fork and speared some morsel and chewed on it for a brief moment before grimacing in disgust and spitting it out into her napkin. "Plugh! That's revolting! How can you possibly eat that?"

"That's just your Bajoran predispositions talking. Unlike you, I have no unfounded prejudices against other cultures."

"Yeah, but most humans can't tolerate non-human, much less Cardassian food. And the ones that do acquired the taste."

"Perhaps I acquired it while I was enslaved," Q mused sarcastically, blowing on his stew to cool it off.

Asangi shook her head, picking at her meal. "The Cardassians wouldn't have fed you their own food. They would have left you to scavenge for whatever you could possibly find t' feed yourself."

Shien downed his glass of wine and refilled it.

"You're not going to bemoan the tired plight of the Bajorans now, are you?" Q yawned dramatically. "Your people brought it on entirely themselves."

"What? You fu--"

"Anyway," Shien said, steering the subject in another direction. "Let's talk about something else. Preferably something you two can't use as fodder to fling insults at each other."

"This fanfare of dressing up in flamboyant and uncomfortable clothing and being forced to act courteously to the help seems to be a wasted effort just to _eat_," Q noted, swallowing a mouthful of egg. "I could easily do without the company, too."

"The experience is more important than the food itself. And besides, you're the one who suggested that I take you out in the first place."

"I didn't know what I was saying. I wanted to try something new."

Shien set his teeth. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea. If there wasn't live entertainment or someone he could ridicule, Q was bored. It was a boredom that was only amplified because he was now confined to sitting in one spot instead of being allowed to roam the building at his own whim.

After a long pause of several minutes, Shien asked, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you want to try something new?"

"I--" Q contemplated it a moment, then made an extraneous gesture with his fork. "Simply to escape the bane of my existence...mind-numbing tedium. Ennui is a wonderful motivator."

Asangi hmphed. "Why can't you just admit you were curious?"

"Curiosity, boredom, what's the difference? I have a working theory that all the supposed 'great strides' made by humanity were inspired by mere boredom with their monotonous, pathetic lives."

"Is he always this bleak?" She looked to the Aldreenian, who nodded in affirmation. "What are you so bitter about, anyway? I can understand why an all-powerful...whatever you were...would have reason t' think humans are inferior...but that doesn't explain why you'd choose t' become one."

"I didn't choose anything."

"Yeah, but y' had a choice between species. That's what Sal told me."

"And what other secrets of mine did dear Sal tell you, anyway?" Q watched carefully as a silent Shien crumbled two cubes into his wine glass, gulped its contents, and closed his eyes as if concentrating on something.

"Not much," Asangi admitted. "Jus' that you pissed off yer 'people,'" her fingers quoted the air, "by tormenting some mortals, and as ironic punishment they kicked you out and took away yer immortality and dropped ya off on the Federation starship _Enterprise_. And then you did some kind of good deed or something and they were gonna give your powers back, but some other Q interfered..." She paused. "What, do you guys all call yourselves by the same name?"

"If you must know, yes."

"How the hell do you tell each other apart, then?"

"What is this, a question-and-answer session?" Q snapped. "I didn't call a press conference, woman! I don't have to answer your sophomoric and misguided questions."

"He's defensive, too."

"I am not!"

"That's not the only thing..." Shien drawled, poking at his soufflé.

"_You_ stay out of this! You've done enough damage!"

"So." Asangi folded her hands over the table. "Why do you have a navel?"

Q nearly choked on a piece of meat. "What?"

"I was talkin' to Kaela, and when I asked her if you have a navel, she said yes. Which would imply that you had an umbilical cord, which would also imply that you were _born_. But you weren't. So why is that?"

Shien's brows rose. "You're right!"

Q sighed, covering his eyes. "Why the hell are you wasting my time on these trivial, inane questions? Why can't you quiz me on the nature of the universe like the Starfleet lackeys did? At least their idiocy had relevance." And I could answer their questions if I ever felt the need."

"'Cause I don't care about that shit. I don't care why I was created and by who. I wanna know why if you were _so omniscient_, why you couldn't foresee that the Continuum would take away yer powers and why you did nothing to stop it."

Q stifled the sudden urge to hurl his food at her. "Maybe," he seethed, "they had been plotting and scheming behind my proverbial back for millennia. And maybe their combined strength surpassed my own by a billion times!"

"So you were powerless."

"Yes, almost as powerless as a woman being forced to sell her body because she possesses no other valuable skills!"

Sweves scurried up to the table, apparently having caught an earful of their blaring conversation. "Ah, how is everyone's meal going?"

The human and Bajoran woman glared at each other across the table in silent, deadly animosity.

"Uh, can I get you anything else?" the waiter pressed.

Shien, slumped in his chair, handed the waiter the empty wine bottle. "More."

The Dessican clutched the bottle to his chest and nodded. "Would that be the same year or something different?"

"_Meh_."

Taking that as an affirmative to the first point, the waiter disappeared yet again.

Q tore his eyes away from the prostitute and stared at Shien in stupefied alarm. "Are you drunk?"

The other just smiled at him warmly.

Unable to believe his eyes, Q shook his head. "You were fine two minutes ago! How is he drunk already?"

"He did just down the majority of that wine," Asangi explained with amusement. "Normally he wouldn't feel a thing from that, but obviously he wants to get drunk." She paused a beat, analyzing the human's questioning look. "You don't know about _that _either? Aldreenians can control the amount of alcohol and foreign substances that enter their bloodstream. It catches up to them if they drink too much too quickly, but it enables them to drink most species under the table without getting phased."

"She's right," Shien admitted, waving a hand.

Q narrowed his eyes, the implications of her last comment sinking in. Before he could address this revelation, however, Sweves had returned with the new bottle of spirits.

The waiter removed Q's and Shien's emptied dishes and pointed to the woman's own half-eaten plate. "Are you finished with your dinner, Madam?"

"Yeah." she waved him away, looking at Q. "I can't believe you ate all that."

"I hope your meals were satisfactory." Sweves said cheerfully. "Would you three like to see the dessert tray?"

"'Dessert tray'?" Q repeated.

"Yes, I'll go get it." A moment later, the waiter reappeared with a large tray of various confectionaries. "We have desserts such as Terran ice cream, Dessican bread pudding, Bajoran flan, and various fruit pies from across the quadrant. We also serve Delavian chocolate cake, Cardassian leek torte, Tuwaly pie, among others."

"What's ice cream?" Shien inquired, looking at the tray. "It sounds disgusting. Ice. Cream."

"It's a frozen dish made out of dairy products. It comes in many flavors." He presented a long list on a padd.

"Ahm. All these flavors are foreign to me. Strawberry, caramel, vanilla, mint. I'll just have whatever fruit pistachio is."

"I think pistachio is a nut, actually," Asangi corrected. "Just try the vanilla. And I'll have a slice of cherry pie."

Q nearly poked his finger into a thick slice of some mahogany treat. "What's that?"

"That is the Delavian chocolate cake."

Shien leaned back languidly. "Mm. I've had that before, it's very good...I'd suggest you order that, Abel. Some claim it's better than sex."

"Oh, and who makes that broad claim?" When Shien jerked his thumb to the woman beside him, Q changed his tune. "Well, if the expert says so, I'll have two."

"Good choice, sir." Sweves smoothly bowed away.

"I really resent your snide remarks about my profession," Asangi said flatly.

"Oh? Really? Because I never intended any of my remarks to actually _offend_ you."

"Yeah well, I'll have you know that I've been doin' this for the past ten years since I was fifteen. I'm proud of where I am."

"Low expectations have that sort of effect on those incapable of seeing the broad spectrum."

"I'm smart enough to know where th' money is," she countered, "unlike some dumb shits who resort to begging or chasing after overblown dreams. And at least I'm in control of my life."

"That's what you think. But you're welcome to delude yourself."

Shien caught sight of the waiter returning with their desserts and enthusiastically beckoned him back. "Thank god."

Sweves served the dishes and presented the Aldreenian with a padd and, after asking again in that ingratiating manner if they needed anything else, was gone.

The Aldreenian dug into his ice cream with a spoon and looked across the table. "Have you ever had cake before, Q?"

"No." Q stared at the confection in front of him skeptically.

Asangi swallowed a mouthful of cherry pie. "But you've had dessert before, right?"

He shook his head. "I never had the opportunity. I only eat when it's utterly necessary."

"Isn't he full of so many cute, inaccurate assumptions?" Shien laughed, pouring himself another helping of wine and missing the glass entirely. "We eat more than just for sustaining life, darling." He didn't notice how the human visibly flinched at the last irksome word.

"And necessity is probably the secondary reason," she added, taking the bottle from her friend and pouring it for him herself.

Q sectioned off a piece of chocolate onto his fork. "That seems to be a recurrent theme in mortal existence."

Again, they watched him with their undivided attention, intent to observe his reaction to an experience he found novel and that they took for granted. Slowly, he took a bite of the cake and physically froze as the richest flavor and texture he had ever encountered registered on the receptors of his taste buds and sent neurons ablaze. It was delicious, moist, an indescribable taste of luxuriant chocolate, warm fudge, cold berries and a hint of some type of nut.

Shien chuckled as they watched Q suddenly drop his fork and double over from overwhelming pleasure, moaning unintelligibly. "I think he likes it."

"How can you tell? He's always so fuckin' dramatic about everything."

Swallowing, Q took a deep breath, regaining his composure. Horrified, he touched his pants briefly just to make sure, and sat up, trying unsuccessfully to look indifferent. "I see what you mean." He looked longingly at his dessert with a gleam in his eye, like he had the sudden impulse to eat both slices as fast as he could gulp them down.

"Don't eat too fast," Asangi advised, not knowing why she even cared enough to bother. "You'll make yerself sick."

"Figures." Q took another slow bite, savoring it. It seemed that even the best of things, when taken in excess, were just as harmful as poison. But it was good.

The men cleaned their dessert plates with ease, and Q remorselessly helped himself to Asangi's abandoned pie without her consent.

Shien's eyes grazed the padd the waiter had left him and he burst out in laughter and would have fallen over backwards if Q had not quickly grabbed the back of the chair. "Oh-kay," he giggled, reaching into his jacket pocket and fishing out a handful of Deccas. "I have to pay for this..."

Asangi cast her napkin onto the table and gathered her purse. "Are you even able to stand?"

He struggled in a feeble attempt, but only ended up knocking some silverware onto the floor with a noisy clank, which issued dirty looks from a number of patrons. "Doesn't seem like it."

Q heaved a sigh and carefully helped his drunk companion to his feet. "You're utterly pathetic." The words were harsh, but he had a broad smile on his face. Strangely, some dark subconscious part of him enjoyed seeing Shien helpless this way.

The smuggler looked up at Q with a bright grin and let himself be carried off, enjoying his present, lighthearted state while it lasted.


	8. Chapter 8

**-Past-**

They all got along quite well after that bizarre act of bonding. Of course, Shien was not completely satisfied, but as far as he was concerned, the end of hostility was long-awaited and appreciated.

With Q's training only occupying several hours of his time daily, however, it became clear that the human was becoming bored with the lack of mental stimulation. The Aldreenian tried his best to occupy the human in conversation, but ultimately he was not enough to satiate Q's intense energy or desire for intellectual debate.

Shien supposed that was the reason why his companion had been hanging around taverns on a daily basis. When Q was not training or working his body to its limit, he was out socializing. It wasn't as if he had an alternative, of course. Dessica II was utterly devoid of museums or anything of redeemable value due to the inherent lawlessness of its citizenry, so there was nothing extracurricular to hold his attention other than the average low-brow entertainment.

But the fact that Q frequented bars and would often come back to the apartment drunk and bruised from a trivial brawl did not bother him as much as the fact that he would disappear for long lengths of time and not return until the middle of the night. The change was so gradual, Shien had barely noticed until Q had brought the first woman home with him.

The smuggler cast the thought from his mind. He did not want to remember that traumatic episode now. Frankly, he was worried about Q's safety. Provoking bar fights, having sex with random men and women of questionable integrity and associating himself with similarly suspicious people...it was only a matter of time before something horrible occurred. Q was not acting like himself. He had taken the "when in Rome" adage to a new level, mimicking the Dessican slang and picking up the culture as if he had been born as a low-class drug smuggler. As if he had been born human. He had adapted to his new environment with such speed and precision that it was frightening.

More than anything else, however, Shien worried about Q's drug use. He knew the signs of someone who overextended his capabilities, and Q was too unused to his human form to know its limits.

And his companion also had memory lapses whenever he recovered from a night of alcohol consumption and drug abuse.

But what could he possibly do? Q was a grown man, so to speak. And where did he, a mercenary, get off criticizing the behavior of a formerly-omnipotent entity? Wasn't he the one who had kidnapped Q in the first place, and condemned him to dwindle at the bottom of the proverbial ladder?

Sighing deeply, Shien drummed on his desk and returned his attention back to the data pad before him. He had to focus on finding work, especially if Trent did not return, which became more likely with every passing day. As far as all the smuggling networks were concerned, he had dropped off the many-planed reaches of the universe.

The sound of the front door sliding open roused the Aldreenian from any attempt at concentration. He heard footsteps approaching his door and waited.

"Sal?" the voice on the other side asked.

"Q, it's the middle of the night. If you're drunk, just go lie down on your side like we discussed and get a bucket if you have to throw up. If you have a floozy with you, just go to your room and keep it quiet. I'm trying to work. If you're too drunk to find your room, just do it on the couch for all I care."

"Really, Sal, you wound me. I'm not drunk, and I assure you that there is no woman here, licentious or not."

Shien looked up. Well, he certainly wasn't drunk. So what did he want at this time of night?

"May I come in?"

Something in the other's tone made him shiver. He imagined Q bloody, missing a limb from a casual skirmish turned deadly. Donning his robe, he walked toward the door and pressed the button, opening it.

He gasped, covering his mouth in alarm. "Holy fuck."

Q stepped forward a pace and leaned against the wall, smirking.

"Don't move." Gingerly Shien crept towards the other and studied his face. "My god. You don't have any irises. Your pupils are completely dilated."

"I thought so. I can barely see straight." He seemed pretty upbeat about it, though.

Shien shook his head, utterly dumbfounded. He had never seen Q this stoned before. "I--how many cubes did you take?" A horrid thought suddenly occurred to him. "It _is _Yalotta, isn't it?"

"Psh. Of course it is." He lingered closer, seeming to float through the air. "And I only took two."

"That makes no sense, two grams shouldn't--"

"--From this bag." A plastic bag of Yalotta spice appeared in his hand.

"Q! That--that's _my_ bag!"

"So? Mine ran out."

Shien snatched the item away and cast it aside. "So, each cube is two grams! You fucking fool, are you trying to kill yourself? That's at least triple your dosage!"

"Oh. Silly me." Q literally waved the issue off. "No matter, you can always get more."

"That's not the point--"

"What's this?" The dazed human teased playfully. "Are you concerned over my welfare?"

"Yes! I--"

"Isn't that touching." Q purred, slinking closer. His lips curled seductively, his voice causing Shien to tremble. "I am eternally indebted to you."

Shien inched himself away, and Q gazed at him with darkened eyes. "Q, look, you should--"

Q forcefully pressed his lips against his, silencing him.

Shien's heart leapt in his chest, and his entire body trembled as the other drew him closer and deepened the kiss with growing intensity. He couldn't believe this was happening, and he couldn't allow himself to respond, no matter how long or how badly he wanted it. Q couldn't have known what he was doing.

Ignoring the Aldreenian's struggles, Q fiercely sucked on his neck, trailing kisses across the smuggler's smooth skin, eliciting choked whimpers from Shien's unwilling lips.

"Uhh...nuh...nuh...no..."

Q drew back, staring at him with those dark eyes. Shien felt himself melt. Both were not wearing their helmets, and Q's intense emotions and thick lust were overpowering him.

"God, don't look at me that way."

"What way?" Q kissed Shien with renewed intensity, this time raiding the other man's mouth with his tongue.

Shien cursed his weakness, feeling his knees buckle as the other wound his hands through is long blond hair.

With a low growl, Q grappled with the smuggler's robe, trying to force it off while Shien labored to keep it on. Q's superior strength eventually won out, and the offending article of clothing was tossed aside, leaving the Aldreenian in his boxers, feeling cold and exposed.

Q didn't seem to take any notice of the other's discomfiture, and ardently caressed his muscled flesh. Shien's disobedient spine arched from the tantalizing touch, causing his hips to buck and his hard cock to brush against the other man's leg. He moaned softly, praying that the other would not take notice of his torn urgency.

Q looked down and grinned mischievously. He advanced on him predatorily, backing him into the opposing wall. Shien bit his lip nervously. He wanted to shove the other man away and flee from the building, and the other part wanted to surrender to his inner need and desperation. He squirmed helplessly as Q hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and easily slipped the protective fabric down to his ankles.

The human glanced down to met Shien's anxious gaze. Breath hot on his exposed skin, Q whispered, "Don't need my powers to tell you want this."

And then he unfastened his pants and allowed them to drop to the floor.

Shien gulped. There was Q, standing in front of him with a throbbing erection. With Q's dilated eyes focused on him intently, Shien felt himself being grabbed by the ass and drawn toward Q, their skin brushing together. The human kissed him again, then turned him around and shoved the smuggler face-first onto the bed.

He tried to scramble up, dread spreading in the back of his mind, but felt himself being forced down by the weight of Q's body on top of him.

_Please let this be a nightmare._

He tried to turn over, tried to wiggle away, but Q held him down and forced himself inside. Shien winced against the searing pain, huffing and trying to breathe through it.

"Sal," Q mumbled, "try to relax."

Shien gripped the covers, squeezing his eyes shut as Q moved behind him, thrusting quickly. He should've screamed, should've begged Q to stop, but he couldn't find the words, couldn't even cry out in pain. Perhaps he should've forced himself to enjoy it, make the most of it. But Q did not last long. Twitching as he came, Q collapsed forward with a long groan.

Shien blinked and laid there for a long moment, unmoving. A faint snore then broke the silence, and he allowed himself to calm down.

Carefully, he disconnected himself from the unconscious former godling and slowly dragged himself out from under the immense weight, sinking to the floor. Q didn't even stir.

His head propped against the mattress, Shien sat there in silence, his thoughts tormenting him. Grudgingly, his unattended erection slowly withered. Gathering his clothes, he walked to the bathroom to clean himself off thoroughly, keeping one eye constantly trained on the sleeping form on his bed.

He hissed at the burning, wiping off blood and semen.

What should he do now?

Approaching Q's sprawled body, he slowly rolled him over onto his back, and cleaned him off with a wet rag. Carefully, he inched his boxers and pants up and refastened them, covering the proverbial tracks.

Now he could only hope that Q's memory lapses also occurred with excessive drug consumption. There was no way he could tell Q what had happened. If the former entity had known what he had done while drugged, he would be forever mortified by his actions and think of himself as a monster.

If Q did remember, he'd deal with the consequences.

Glancing over his shoulder, he left the room. Striding into the living room, he sat on the couch and covered his head in his hands. He couldn't deal with this. This was not how he had imagined their first time would be like.

Suppressing the cold ache in his chest, Shien stretched out on the couch, waiting for a sleep that never came. Through the thin walls, he listened to an angry couple's muffled shouts and the sounds of shattering plates and domestic abuse.

The brightness of dawn was spreading across the morning sky when the door to his room opened.

When Q had awakened to find himself in Shien's room, he had been confused. He tried to remember how he had gotten there, but as usual, his memories were distorted, hazed and unattainable. It was a frightening feeling he never became accustomed to. He recalled discovering Shien's bag in his room and running to the Dancing Nimbus to disintegrate two cubes directly into his favorite beverage, Maraltian Seev-ale, and had then been thrown into the most intense, splendid high he had yet undergone.

And then he woke up here, alone.

He found Shien lying on his side on the living room couch, staring into the distance at nothing in particular. At his entrance, the smuggler sat up. They exchanged glances.

Q ran his fingers though his hair. "I don't know what you lace your Yalotta spice with, but it did a commendable job at fucking me up."

Shien eyed him warily. "You don't remember anything from last night?"

Q blanched stark-white. "I didn't do something horrid and mortally embarrassing, did I?" When the other did not readily respond, he clasped his hands together urgently. "I can't bear these memory lapses. What did I do? I demand that you stop smiling at me like that and tell me!"

"Oh, nothing. You just sung a little bit."

Groaning in mortification, Q melodramatically covered his face with a hand. "You must be joking. My pride will never recover from this dreadful humiliation."

"You shouldn't be ashamed. You have a beautiful singing voice."

"I do?" Q seemed to preen slightly, relaxing. "That still doesn't explain why I woke up in your bed." He smirked. "You didn't take advantage of me, did you?"

Shien smiled thinly. "You have nothing to worry about from me."

* * *

Another week passed without a change in Q's impulsive behavior. But what was Shien to do? Chide him? Q was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions for himself. The smuggler had no idea how the other would react to that sort of criticism, and he didn't want to risk jeopardizing--

What, their friendship? Did Q even know the significance of that type of relationship?

"Look at what Abel made me," Asangi said, developing a shinny, cylindrical object from her purse.

"Is that what I think it is?" Shien analyzed the device in his hand. "It's...amazing."

"I know. And look, he solved the carb problem. It self-lights and burns all the andris evenly. Watch," she adjusted the setting and took a slow hit from the mouthpiece, then exhaled. "It stops burning immediately when y' finish inhaling. Ingenious."

"How much do you think it's worth?"

"Who cares? I'm not selling it." The Bajoran woman stroked the pipe affectionately. "I don' know how the hell he found the parts or how the hell he knew how to build it. All I know is that you shouldn't let this guy get away."

Shien raised a brow in amusement. "All of this because he built you an expensive peace-offering? You're an easy one to win over."

"I take what I can get."

"I still can't believe he did that," he muttered thoughtfully, his voice faraway.

She casually folded her hands over a knee. "Maybe he wants to add me t' his long list of fuckbuddies."

Shien glared at her obliquely, then smirked. "I think he just did."

"Oohhh." She was about to retort when he suddenly made a strange face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." Shien's brow frayed. He had the distant, lingering impression that something was wrong. And it wasn't going away. Instead, it only seemed to intensify in the back of his mind, screaming at him to spring to action. It was worse than any kind of dread-- it was as if he was receiving a sign that he had no idea how to read, telling him that something horrible would happen if he did not act.

The twinge had a certain aura to it.

"Q," he murmured. "Do you know where Q is?"

"Why are you asking me? What is it?"

Shien stood abruptly. "I don't know whether it's my empathic abilities, unfounded paranoia or divine intervention, but I have this feeling that something is wrong. With Abel."

His sudden intensity caused her to grab his arm with concern. "What? What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know! But I have to find him."

"I know better than to argue with an empath's intuition." She retrieved her purse and led him out the door. "You know what to do."

"I'll check the bars on the west side, and you'll take the ones on the east?"

"Exactly." She pocketed a communicator lying on the countertop and tossed him his helmet. "If y' get any leads."

Nodding, they separated. Fear gripping him, Shien investigated Q's favorite bars on the west side of the city: the Dancing Nimbus, the Southstar, Galaxy's End, the Quarreling Quasar Inn, the Nostalgic Nova, the Pixilated Pulsar, the Cocky Comet Cantina, the Phased Photon Pub...none had reported seeing him in the past day.

Even Freggus admitted having had no contact with the human that day. "Frankly, I'm a little insulted. But if ya really wanna find Abe, why don't ya jus' call 'im on his headset? He wears the damned thing wherever he goes...fucking 'fraid a telepath might take over his brain."

Shien stared. "Goddamn it, why didn't I think of that?" Laughing at his own stupidity, he opened up the channel between their two communicators. "Sal Shien to Abel Keynan. Are you there, Abel? Hello? Are you there?" He continued this line of questioning with no response for five straight minutes, receiving only static on the other end. If he had been worried before, now he was panicked.

Freggus offered his consolations. "I hope he ain't dead from a bar fight."

The image of Q's body lying dead on the soiled floor of some remote tavern as patrons carelessly treaded upon his mortal remains made Shien burst into tears.

"Fuck, I said I hope he_ ain't _dead," the tapster pointed out. "Damn."

Shien's headset suddenly sounded off and his disposition brightened. "Yes! Abel? Is that you?"

"Calm down, yer coming off as desperate," Asangi stated.

The smuggler's shoulders slumped. "Oh, it's you."

"I'm at some place called 'Blykal's Lucky Liver-Fluke.' This guy here says he overheard Abel an' a group of people organizing a party."

"Well? Where is it?"

"The bastard won't tell me! He wants me to give him fifty slips! I think he read my anxiety."

"So give them to him! This is no time to be cheap, Abel's life might depend on it for all we know."

"I'm not being cheap, I don't have anything on me!"

"Give him your pipe."

"No!" she shouted. "I only took four hits offa that thing! I just got it. I'm not givin' it up just 'cause you have 'a feeling'!"

"I can't believe your selfishness! He can build you another one!"

"Not if he's dead!" On the other side of the city, the Bajoran woman ripped off her earring and shoved it in the demanding man's face. "Here! That's worth at least sixty slips. Now where is he?"

The man appraised the jewelry for a brief moment and, pausing for effect, recited an address.

"Y'hear that?" Asangi inquired over the communicator.

Shien catapulted himself off his barstool. "That's a few blocks away from here! I'm on my way...meet me there!"

"Yer welcome," she grumbled as she signed off.

A number of furious drunks cursed at Shien as he overturned chairs and knocked over their drinks in his hurry to exit the bar. Two chased after him to exact revenge, but could not keep up with his galloping sprint and were soon kneeling on the ground panting heavily.

It took him several minutes to reach the intended building, and each time a foot hit the ground, the disturbing voice in the back of his mind would intensify its warning.

Without stopping, Shien clambered up a flight of stairs and howled in anguish as he was confronted with three identical hallways. He desperately latched onto the nearest person, a young boy. "Where's room 648B? Where's room 648B? Tell me!"

The boy rolled his eyes. "You're on the wrong floor, idiot."

_Idiot, t_he voice repeated in amusement.

"Argh!" Shien shoved the boy aside and ran up the next flight of stairs and fervidly charged up and down the three corridors until he discovered the door of the desired apartment.

He beat his fist on the door, waited a full second, and rammed it with the full-fledged force of his shoulder, busting it in.

A groan issued from the other side of the fallen door. Shien quickly lifted it up slightly to make sure it wasn't Q before dropping it back down. Frantically, he scavenged the interior of the apartment with his eyes.

Six figures lay unconscious in a circle, obviously having had been engaged in a drinking game that had involved the stripping of clothing. A woman was slumped in a chair, four empty bottles in her lap.

Two men seated at a table passing a pipe between each other shifted their gaze at the intruder.

"Who the fuck are you?" one demanded. "Ya broke the fucking door down, you fucking psycho!"

"Where's Abel?"

They exchanged glances. "Passed out like everyone else." The second man gestured to one of the bedrooms.

The addicts watched as the attractive blond man rushed into the indicated room. A moment later, they heard a sickening shriek.

Shien found Q lying on his back on the bed, half-naked and seemingly asleep with an equally half-naked and unconscious woman nestled with her face embedded over the crotch of his pants.

The voice in his mind yelled at him._ Move!_

Roused into action by the persuasive intrusion, Shien grabbed the woman by the shoulders and shoved her off the bed. Hands shaking uncontrollably, he pressed two fingers against Q's throat and waited for the pulse.

And started howling hysterically.

"Oh g-god!" he stammered through tears. "I'm too l-late! He's d-dead!"

_Shut up, you drooling invertebrate!_ the voice shouted. _The man isn't artwork. Stop staring and do something!_

Forcing himself to stay calm, he tried to remember what the doctor had done when Iaris had been electrocuted. Straddling Q's lifeless body, he placed the heel of a palm over the other's sternum, laced it with the second hand, and began a sequence of compressions. Somehow, the correct details flooded into his short term memory. He closed his eyes, counting out loud.

The two men ran in, bewildered. "What the fuck?"

"Go," Shien urged between compressions. "Get. A doctor."

"At this time of night? Do ya have any idea how much doctors cost?"

He was about to start screaming at them when someone called out his name.

Moments later, Asangi appeared in the doorway, panting, to find her long-time smuggler friend with tears streaming down his cheeks, pinching Q's nose shut and breathing steadily into his mouth.

She gasped.

Shien looked up solemnly, checked Abel's throat for a pulse, and continued the compressions.

"I'll get a doctor!" Asangi rushed out the door as fast as she came in.

"Uhm," one of the men said. "We'll go with you!"

Finally alone, Shien continued his ministrations in silence. From his vantage point straddled above the human, he looked on in helpless frustration as the pigment left Q's skin. His vision blurred, staring at the human's colorless face in disbelief. How could this once lively man just die? The thought had always crossed his mind, but he had always dismissed it.

Two more breaths. Fifteen compressions. Two more breaths.

He checked for a pulse again and collapsed on Q's chest, howling. His entire body convulsed as he heaved sobs. It was over. There was no way he could survive after five minutes without a heartbeat. He whimpered softly, a bleak emptiness filling his chest, choking him.

_I'm astounded by your weakness. Just going to give up, eh? How you survived this long is a mystery to me._

Shien sniffled in torment. "H-he's dead," he gasped through tears. "T-there's nothing m-more I can d-do. I-I was too late."

_Oh, boo-hoo. Is this the mortal way? Give up without fighting simply because you have no conception of what you are truly capable of? You failed before you tried. I'm sure he would have disproved. You might as well kill yourself too since you're looking for an out, and just meet him in hell--_

"Shut up!" Shien spat at the voice, silencing it by clamping his mental gates shut. Blinking away tears, he resumed the compressions with renewed resolution. He didn't care if he had to be here all night, he was not going to leave Q's side. "This is ridiculous. I'm trying to breathe life into a cadaver."

He leaned over and felt for a pulse. He frowned and checked again. A faint rhythmic throbbing met his fingertips. His heart lifted as he noticed Q's chest rise and fall ever so slightly.

Shien tumbled off the bed in relief. He stood and embraced the human around the shoulders joyously. "Oh, god, Q..." Tentatively he opened the gates protecting his mind, but the mental intruder was gone. Although the voice had disappeared, however, a dread continued to linger. He looked down at the unconscious man in his arms. "Q?"

* * *

"Well? When is he gonna wake up?" Asangi demanded, her fists resting on her hips.

The doctor, Kinard, laughed unpleasantly. "When did I say he was going t' wake up?"

Shien bolted forward. "What? How can you say that?" His eyes drifted to the comatose form in the nearby room. "You mean he could be in a coma forever?"

"I'm sure his body will give out sometime before forever," Kinard provided dryly.

The smuggler grabbed the doctor by his shirt collar and shook him ferociously. "Enough with the bullshit! You heal him! That's what I'm fucking paying you for, isn't it? You heal him, or I'll kill you, so help me!"

The doctor seemed unaffected by the threat. "Go ahead. I am employed by the elites."

Shien released him in disgust. "I want a second opinion."

"Fine. If I were you, I would save myself the considerable expense and have your friend euthanized. We could use the extra organs."

Asangi stepped in before Shien could take a swing at the doctor and land himself in prison. "Why do you keep saying that?" she asked. "What is wrong with him?"

"Finally, someone asks!" Kinard examined the padd in his hands. "Your friend, Mister Keynan, consumed over thirteen grams of Yalotta spice over the course of an hour. From your reactions, I surmise you know what that means. I suppose he was already considerably fucked up when he took the last six grams at once. The toxins, combined with whatever amount of alcohol we found in his bloodstream, knocked him unconscious in less than a minute. He slipped into a catatonic state much like the one he is in now around twenty minutes later. I estimate the drugs shut down his respiratory system around thirty minutes after that. From what you told me, I can guess he had been dead at least two minutes before you got there."

"Shien?" Asangi frowned in concern as the other doubled over, his face in his hands.

"He's right," the smuggler mumbled, hiding his face. "He's right. Thirteen grams. God, he shouldn't even be alive now. He must have destroyed his liver, not to mention his brain."

"The overdose damaged a substantial amount of his liver, yes. And kidneys. And a small portion of his prefrontal lobe. We purged all the toxins from his system, whatever good that's going t' do."

Shien fell back against a wall and his knees gave out from under him. He weakly slid down to a sitting position on the floor, expressionless. His face was stark white. "Is...is t-there...is t-there...?"

A sympathetic look passed over Kinard's face briefly. "He'll have to survive the night first."

* * *

Q did not survive the night--he survived an entire week without any change in his situation. He did not respond to external stimuli and his brainwave patterns were nearly nonexistent. Somehow, Shien had convinced Kinard to repair his damaged internal organs despite the fact that the doctor kept asserting it was foolish to install a fresh warp drive in a ship on the brink of collapse.

And expensive. Whatever funds Shien had raked in from his drug-dealing success were now completely depleted. He sold his remaining narcotic supply at half-price, sold the majority of his and Q's clothes, the anti-gravity cruiser, as well as the items they had stolen off the thieves in the distant bar fight.

That barely covered the hospital bills. Kinard had not exaggerated. After a week, Shien had to pull Q out of the hospital and keep him at the apartment and care for him himself, checking his pulse on an hourly basis and administering hyposprays and nutritional substitutes to maintain his catatonic state.

And to compound matters, the landlord had come by, demanding the long-overdue rent. An hour of unsuccessful pleading and a black eye later, they were homeless.

Asangi opened her door to find a disheveled Shien carrying a knapsack and a human burden over his shoulder. He didn't say anything, he just stood there. But he didn't need to utter a word-- the many tortures of the past week were engraved on his face.

"I had a feeling it would come to this," she said, stepping aside for him to enter. "You can just put him on the couch."

Shien was already wobbling in that direction and gently lowered his heavy bundle onto the soft cushions. He gasped, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm just glad you live only two blocks away."

The Bajoran crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

He looked up. "What?"

"I'm just hoping he appreciates this when he wakes up."

He affectionately rumpled Q's dark hair with a hand. "Actually, he's a lot more manageable in this form. No back-talk."

She laughed, approaching him to reward him with brief embrace. He returned the hug, sighing wearily. "I'll make you some lunch," she whispered. "Then you can go to bed. I'll take over from here, Nurse Shien."

He didn't protest. Even at the thought of sleep, his eyelids threatened to close.

* * *

Several more days passed with Q showing only minimal improvement. On two occasions, his fingers had twitched-- an event that was marked with more excitement than the utterance of an infant's first words.

But that still did not mean he would ever wake up. It was a reality that became clearer with each passing day.

They both sat at the breakfast table, gazing blankly in silence. Asangi inhaled smoke from her pipe and glanced to the side to see Shien holding his hand out.

"I thought you were too good for andris," she mocked lightly.

"I changed my mind."

Watching him closely and, noting how he looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion, she turned over the pipe to him and jumped when the buzzer of her front door sounded off. "Who the hell?"

Shien was half-way through his toke when a familiar figure revealed itself in the doorway. He coughed from inhaling too sharply. "Thank god," he wheezed.

Trenton raised his hands in the air. "What is this? I'm gone for a few months and you're evicted from your apartment, living with a hooker--"

Asangi huffed. "Excuse me?"

"...And now you're smoking andris? Fuck, what happened to you? You look terrible! Look at you! It was only a few months, right?"

"You have no idea. What the hell took you so long? You didn't communicate with me once!"

"I was busy." He looked around. "Where's er, Abel? Sleeping?"

"Uhm." Shien glanced toward the couch.

The doctor's eyes flitted in that direction, then shot back at the other Aldreenian accusingly. "What happened?"

"He OD-ed," Asangi blurted out. "On thirteen grams of Yalotta."

Trent made a choking noise. "You're shitting me." When they shook their heads solemnly, he clenched a fist. "That's impossible! Ten grams is the deadly dose for any human. Thirteen grams would kill us! There's no way he could still be alive!"

"He did die. But Shien revived him."

"You? Ha! What do you know about reviving dead people?"

"Nothing," Shien admitted. "But here he is."

"Yeah," the doctor murmured thoughtfully, approaching Q's comatose form and looking it over as if through a mental magnifying glass. He checked the man's pulse just to make sure. "How long has he been like this?"

"Almost two weeks. The drug destroyed his kidneys and liver, but I had them repaired."

Shien would have thought the doctor would have been pleased, but instead he raised his voice in indignation. "You had his organs repaired and he's still in a coma?"

"Doctor Kinard said he may never wake up."

"Then Doctor Kinard is an idiot! Haven't you tried to wake him up yourself?"

Shien shook his head in confusion. "Of course we did, but he doesn't respond to touch, sound, or light. We tried all we could."

"What did you do?" Trent sneered. "Hold his hand and stroke it? Softly whisper his name? Shine a light in his eyes?"

"Well, yes."

"Archaic fools. Don't you know anything about Yalotta overdoses?" He leaned over and opened a small black bag that he had been carrying. "Lucky for you, I anticipated something like this would happen."

Mumbling under his breath, he developed a round rubber disk and forced it between the unconscious Q's teeth. Digging through the bag again, he pulled out a finger-sized prod that he extended to two feet in length with the click of a button.

The other Aldreenian watched the doctor's actions warily. "What are you going to do? If you're going to poke him, we tried that."

"Hmph," was all that Trent uttered, and with another button click, the prod hummed to life with the low buzz of electric current. Then, in a swift motion, he forcefully jabbed Q in the ribcage with the implement.

Asangi and Shien stiffened in horror. "What the hell are you doing?"

The doctor did not stop prodding the comatose man, whose body began to spasm from the electric current that was running up and down his form. "Wake up, you fucking imbecile!"

They clung to his arms, pulling him away. "Stop!" they wailed. "What is wrong with you? You'll make it worse! You can't just electrocute someone awake!"

"Oh really?" Trent smirked.

With a dry howl, Q bolted upright, his eyes wide. His hair stood straight up from the electric current and slowly matted back down. He choked slightly and spat the rubber disk onto his lap.

"I don't believe it," Shien said.

"Archaic fools," the doctor repeated in satisfaction, extinguishing the prod. "Your 'Doctor' Kinard has been treating andris overdoses for too long. I acquired this little beauty from those pastoralists on Iyar III. They used it on their herds, but I find it has a variety of other uses."

Q winced as a sudden excruciating brightness flooded his vision, blinding him. He squinted through the blur of images registering in his reawakened occipital lobe. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the sensory overload and the images began to congeal into identifiable figures. Looking around in bewilderment, the first face he saw was that of the unpleasant doctor towering over him.

He groaned in disgust and rolled away.

"At least he doesn't have recognition problems," Trent noted with amusement.

Shien was immediately kneeling at the revived man's side, excited tears coating his eyes in a glaze. "Q, you're awake. I'm so, I'm so--"

Q looked at him curiously, taking a deep breath to steady the dizziness. "You act as if I have never waken up before." He frowned reflectively. "I had the most horrid dream." When he was sure he had captured the other's attention, he continued. "I was drifting...sinking, rather...in a cold pool that opened out into a river. I had no control of the current...I tried to grasp something to keep myself aloft...but the current pulled me under and I was...slipping away." His body shuddered in distress at the frightening memory. "And then I felt my consciousness fading, each part of who I was...extinguished right from under me piece by piece until...I couldn't even remember who I was. By then I didn't even care any more because my entire being had been robbed of me. I, in every sense of the word, no longer existed."

"It wasn't a dream."

"What happened?" Q demanded cautiously, his voice tinted with apprehension. He could not stand not knowing. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

When Shien appeared unable to speak, Asangi stepped in. "You were at a party..."

"Yes, I remember that." He searched his mind a moment then abruptly sat up, regretting it as vertigo overwhelmed him. Then he covered his face in his hands in utter humiliation, groaning.

"Do you remember what happened?" Asangi pressed.

"Barely. I was so incredibly drunk." He looked down at himself, reclined on a couch in yet another unfamiliar setting, and his brows kneaded together in frustration. "What happened to me?"

"You consumed thirteen grams of Yalotta spice," Trent stated. "Apparently you're either suicidal or fucking stupid when you're under the influence. That's right, sleepy-poo, you were nearly beamed up to the next plane of existence. But Shien had to go and spoil it and resuscitate you."

When the human's dark, frightened eyes rested on him, Shien nodded in confirmation. "I was here with Asangi when I got this powerful desire to find you. And when I did, you had been dead for two minutes. I don't know how I did it, but somehow I revived you. But you...you slipped into a coma..."

"How...long...?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Q looked stricken. He moved to get up, but the doctor's hand held him down.

"Nuh-uh. I have some questions, and no one's going anywhere until they're answered. First of all--" tThe hand on Q's chest suddenly grasped at his shirt and pulled the surprised human up. "What the fuck were you thinking? No one is naïve enough to ingest thirteen grams of Yalotta spice! 'Omnipotent genius' my ass! Do you know how much pain you've caused these people?"

Q narrowed his eyes, unable to defend himself. He just wanted to be left alone right now so he could recover.

"Trenton!" Shien shouted. "Calm down, it isn't his fault."

The doctor released his hold on the human and turned his attention to his leader. "Oh, you're not innocent in this either, Sal. How much did you fritter away on repairing this fool's damaged internal organs?"

Q's eyes widened in horror. "My damaged....?"

Shien stared at the tips of his boots. "300,000."

"Please, please tell me that's in slips."

"It's in Deccas."

Trenton's face actually paled. "How did you pay it? You paid it, right?"

"I liquidated everything. Everything."

"That couldn't possibly have been enough."

Shien shook his head. "I still have a debt of 40,000 for the hospital stay and medication."

"Why the hell didn't you bargain? You could have easily gotten his kidneys and liver repaired for 10,000 with a fifteen percent failure rate. I know a guy in Quachetin who would have done it for 3,000." Then his face changed. "Wait, is this Kinard you spoke of the doctor authorized by the elites?"

"I wanted the best," Shien mumbled.

Trenton seethed, clenching and unclenching his fists. "You know, the Authority will send their assassin's guild after you to collect their fees."

"I know."

The doctor averted his attention back to Q. "The elites will get their earnings, even if they have to reclaim your organs right out of your body." Unable to contain his anger any longer, he grabbed onto Q's shirt again. "Damn you! Do you have any idea what this means? We're ruined! I would kill you right now if that idiot Shien had not invested three million slips into you!"

Q seemed unaffected, letting himself be shaken by the furious Aldreenian. "You make it sound like a lot."

"Let me put it in perspective for you," Trenton hissed. "Three million latinum slips could easily buy enough Yalotta to fill this entire fucking building from top to bottom! And that three million didn't even cover repairing your brain damage!"

Q went rigid. He looked at Shien. "Brain damage? When were you planning on mentioning that? What else are you hiding?"

The Aldreenian shrunk back meekly. "I-I'm sorry..."

"You know this chunk of poorly-developed flesh sloshing between my ears contains the only semblance of what I used to be!"

"I think it's clear here who the bitch is in this relationship," the doctor muttered. Shien winced more visibly at that than he had expected, and he made a mental note of it.

Q didn't even notice, still infuriated about how Shien had dropped the ball again. "Why did you bother repairing my body and ignore the most significant component? You should have--"

"Uhm," Asangi interrupted. "You mean there's a way to cure brain damage?"

Q stared at her as if she had just announced that the universe had been created by the epitome of humanity in a mere six days. "The Federation..."

"You need to stop comparing Dessica II and our society with the Federation," Trent reprimanded mildly.

"I'm not in Kansas any more," Q mumbled. "Except when Dorothy woke up, she was home."

"He sounded fine before," Asangi said. "But now he's not making any sense. Kinard said something about prefrontal cortex damage. Is the prefrontal cortex important?"

"Only if you think attention, memory, personality and planning are important!" Q barked at her.

Instead of becoming offended by his tone, she barked right back. "Maybe you should have considered that before you decided to stuff thirteen grams of drugs into your mouth, you fucking jackass!"

"How dare you? I should--!" Q shot forward to strangle her.

"Ehh-heh." The doctor laughed uncomfortably, which set all of them on edge. "Calm down there, er, Q. Uhm, I'm going to, eh, scan you right now, okay? Okay? Now just, er, sit still for a second." To his credit, the human froze while he conducted a full bio-scan. After glancing at the readout, Trent sighed in relief. "Phew. You only have a negligible amount of prefrontal brain damage. But, on the plus side, you're going into severe Yalotta spice withdrawal."

He seemed to calm at that. "How is that a good thing?"

"I can cure withdrawal." He dipped his hand into a pocket and withdrew two cubes. "Here, take your medication."

Q was reaching for it when Shien jumped in. "Ah, Trent, is that wise? I mean, he did just overdose..."

"Look, either he resumes his little addiction or we leave him here. I am not letting a psychopathic human on our ship. He was bad enough before."

"But he could kick it!"

"Shien, how long have you been taking Yalotta spice?"

He thought it over, doing the math. "Since I was five, I suppose. Forty years."

"And have you ever tried to quit?"

"No."

"Try. It will not be an enjoyable experience. And it's worse for the humans because they can't handle anything." The doctor set his arms akimbo. "Frankly, I don't want to be murdered in my sleep by the bastard."

"I don't like seeing him dependent," Shien groused under his breath.

Deciding he was now clear to ingest the drugs, Q popped the cubes in his mouth and made a face at the unpleasant flavor. Almost immediately, his entire countenance relaxed. Once realizing how he had behaved, he hid his face in his hands. "Do I have no self control? Why must I be tormented by this weakness?"

Asangi pursed her lips. "You guys should probably get the hell off this planet while y' still can."

Trent nodded in agreement. "Just by staying here we put Asangi in danger. If the bill collectors find you here, she'll be a target as well."

"I'll get our things." Shien decisively fetched the small duffel bag lying on the floor nearby. "All right, let's go."

"What? Go where?" Q scrambled off the couch to stand up and fell over. "Now I've forgotten how to walk!"

As Shien helped the human to his feet, the doctor chuckled slightly. "Hardly. You were in a coma for two weeks. You just have mild muscle atrophy."

"It never ends."

Asangi stepped forward and embraced Shien. "Don't wait another three years to come visit."

He nodded briefly and followed the doctor, supporting Q with his shoulder.

As the trio crossed through the city in the direction of the hangar bay in which the _Anathema_ was docked, Q gradually was able to regain his ability to walk on his own, though a dizziness from lying on his back from two weeks still plagued him.

Trent had been in the process of explaining to Shien their new assignment when he sharply cut himself off and lowered his voice. "Don't look, but we're being followed."

Shien nodded gravely. "He's been behind us since we left the complex."

"The Authority is as efficient as always." The doctor casually scratched his ear, keying the communicator in his helmet.

"There's another one up there," Q said helpfully, pointing to a man dressed in black form-fitting armor standing on the roof of a building. But by the time they looked in that direction, he was gone.

Trent whirled on him in fury. "You fucking _pointed_? You goddamn--!"

The insult was interrupted with the appearance of a man phasing into existence in front of them. The molecules then shifted behind them, and a second assassin metamorphosed with a blaster drawn.

The first assassin tapped the blunt side of a jackblade against an open palm. Instantly, both the doctor and Shien raised their hands in the air and dropped to their knees. Stepping forward, the second man began the process of binding their arms and legs together.

The assassin with the jackblade pointedly looked to Q, who only held his ground in a defensive stance.

"Dolt!" Trent shouted. "Get down on your knees! You're going to get us killed!"

"Shut up," the first assassin snapped brusquely.

"Yes, sir!"

Q gawked at his so-called compatriots. "You're just surrendering? What kind of mercenaries are you? There are only two of them!"

They just stared at him, afraid to speak, begging him with their eyes to cooperate.

Of course, Q did not know the meaning of the word. "I'm not afraid of you," he announced to the assassin, his hands firmly set on his hips in defiance.

"Oh, god," Trent murmured under his breath, lowering his head.

The enforcer said nothing, and deliberately began to swing the jackblade over his head, twirling it around with short flicks of the wrist threateningly.

Q snorted at the ostentatious display. "And your hokey parlor tricks don't impress me either."

The jackblade whirled in a blur of motion, loudly cutting through the air. Suddenly, with a sharp snap of his wrist, the assassin expertly brought the weapon down forward, the sharp blades slashing across Q's face, arms, and chest, leaving shallow gashes over his skin and shredding his clothes.

The human stumbled backwards in alarm at the sight of his tattered garments and bloody lacerations. Blood filled his mouth from a torn lip. Anger filling him, Q started forward to attack with a clenched fist--

"No!" Shien wailed. "They're members of the Authority, don't attack them! They'll--!" The second assassin shoved him over with a kick between the shoulder blades, silencing him.

Q set his teeth. Grudgingly, he lowered himself to the ground.

The assassin nodded once and was about to ruthlessly bring the jackblade down again to further enunciate his point when a dark shadow passed over them.

The five figures looked to the sky to find a ship hovering-mid air above their heads.

"Kill them!" the first assassin burst out hurriedly. "Kill them before--!"

An energy blast suddenly shot out from the hovering ship, decimating a large structure nearby, rocking the landscape and throwing the assassins off balance. Shrapnel, building materials and dust were propelled outward in a huge mushroom cloud of debris. Bystanders screamed hysterically at the sight of the wreckage and broken bodies lying under piles of plaster. Q's eyes widened. There had to have been several hundred mortals in that vaporized building.

Regaining his footing, the first assassin forcefully drove a dagger into Q's ribcage, only to find all three criminals shimmer out of existence.

"Goddammit."

Q gingerly opened his eyes, half-expecting to find a dagger embedded in his torso. Instead, he found himself on his knees in the familiar bridge of the _Anathema,_ one of the nameless Aldreenians standing in front of them curiously.

"Took you two long enough," the doctor exclaimed, though his voice was full of gratitude. "The blowing up of that building was a little much, though, don't you think? Now help untie us."

"How could it have been a 'bit much'?" Ops queried, moving forward to free them.

"I don't know, what if an elite had been inside that building? Or injured by the shrapnel?"

"An elite would not be caught dead on that side of Bal'mora, much less in the vicinity of a third-rate apartment complex," the other responded easily. "Besides, we're not coming back here."

Suddenly, the Aldreenian was thrown onto his back as the ship abruptly pulled upward, darting through Dessica II's murky atmosphere. Still on the floor, Q, Shien and the doctor tumbled across the bridge like lopsided balls from the gravitational forces.

Once the ship righted itself, Q uncovered himself from underneath a pile of boxes and crates, glowering. "Who the hell allowed this inept clod into the street without his training wheels?"

Conn matched his sour tone. "I'd like to see you do better."

"And much as I would relish proving you wrong, I'm not about to dirty my hands with your lowly--"

"It didn't take long for you to return to your normal dick-like self, did it, Q?" the newly-freed doctor interrupted, standing up.

"I pride myself for my honesty."

Trent discarded the nylon ropes that had bound his wrists into a far corner of the bridge. "We have no use for your so-called honesty. Do you have an idea that you could have gotten us killed with your damn pointing? Why didn't you just light a fricking flare? If honesty is such a blasted virtue to you, then, honestly speaking, I think you're an absolutely wor--"

"That's enough," Shien murmured from the floor. Although his hands were free, he had not yet moved.

"Why the hell are you still sitting down there?"

"I'm tired."

The doctor noted the other's drawn, disoriented expression and the shadow's encircling his faded eyes and frowned. "Go to bed. You're making us nervous."

Shien glanced up as if the act took his entire strength. Then, upon catching sight of Q, he jumped to his feet like a crazed mother witnessing her offspring juggling kitchen knives atop a precipice. "Q! You're bleeding!"

"Am I?" The human nonchalantly realized with morbid disinterest that his body was covered in gashes and the skin of his face was slashed across the brow, cheeks and jaw. "So I am. That's hardly a novel occurrence." He paused. "But look at what that retrograde hit-man did to my clothes! Blood stains are one matter, but my shirt has been utterly shredded."

Meanwhile, Shien was dabbing dry Q's bloody scrapes with the sleeve of his own clean shirt. Trent and the other two Aldreenians regarded this display with disbelief.

"What is wrong with you?" Trent stammered, shoving Shien away from his obsessive ministrations. "Have you no shred of dignity? You're doting on the dumbfuck like...go to bed! You're acting ridiculous. I feel humiliated for the both of us."

"I--" Shien cut himself off. Perhaps he was right.

"We'll have a meeting later about your next course of action. Now go."

Nodding, Shien quietly drifted off towards the nearest bedroom.

Q watched him leave and crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't see anything wrong with his doting."

* * *

Ignoring the melodramatic hissing and continued complaining about the stinging, the doctor ran a soaked pad of antiseptic over the human's fresh wounds. Getting this close to the bastard, he couldn't help but make a few observations.

"Mind telling me where all these other wounds came from?"

Q fidgeted his legs as they dangled over the edge of the table he was sitting on. "What do you care?"

"Indulge my mortal curiosity. You get that feeling sometimes, don't you? Curiosity? Besides, whoever stitched you up was obviously incompetent."

The human looked askance at him. "This coming from someone who uses a butter knife and staples to heal his patients?" He examined his own body a moment. "Where to start." Q pointed to a set of faded teeth marks on his left forearm. "A Ferengi bit me for outbidding him on some trivial trinket he had been admiring."

"Was it shiny?"

"With flashing lights, no less. Then he bit me here when I purposely smashed it in front of him." Then he indicated several gashes along his upper body where glass had once been embedded. "Thrown through a tavern window for mocking the bartender."

Trent shook his head, staring at the readout on his tricorder. "Is that how you broke two of your ribs?"

"No, that was from a pair of Cardassians who pummeled me after I bested them in a game of damjat. Their strategy was so flawed and obvious that I couldn't resist. They nearly punctured a lung, I'm told."

"I bet Shien loved that." When the other said nothing, he went on. "Do you know why he is so...interested in you?"

"I have no idea why anyone would be interested in me, besides my superior intelligence and inhuman capabilities, of course."

Trent set aside the tricorder, trying for once to phrase his words carefully. Someone had to tell Q. Shien seemed like he was getting more desperate, and the human had to be alerted in case the Aldreenian lost his self-control. "Shien is not...exclusively heterosexual, I think."

Q snorted. "This is your big secret?"

"You mean you know?"

"You have the tricorder, Doctor. Aren't my eyes functioning fine?"

Trent appeared deeply disappointed by that. "How long?"

The human sarcastically pretended to mull it over. "Perhaps it was when he started fondling me ten minutes after we first met."

The doctor frowned. Only until recently, all Shien had ever talked about in regards to sex had concerned him trying to seduce women, although the younger smuggler had always had an obscure veil around everything he did, something the others had always been too mystified to accurately identify. 'Just a tad off' Shien's uncle had always affectionately called it. Everyone had always been in denial over the observable fact that Shien had too much of the Aldreenian heritage in him. Only now had Shien's strange behavior began to solidify into something they could pin-point.

Five hours later, Shien awakened to find all four of his crewmates on the bridge. Trent stood from the captain's chair, clasping his hands together. "Finally. Let's get started." He shot Q a dirty look pointedly.

"I wouldn't want anything to do with your tedious deliberations if my mortal life depended on it," Q sneered bitterly as he stalked off the bridge.

Once he heard the door hiss shut behind the human, Trent allowed Shien to reclaim his seat. "Well, then, I--"

Their leader looked up. "Why did you not let Q stay?"

"He's not part of the goddamn crew, remember? Not only does he have no social skills, but--"

"I consider him a member of the crew," Shien thought out loud.

"About that." The doctor folded his hands behind his back and started to pace. "Who here is confused as to why this burdensome human is here in the first place?" He raised his hand steadily and nodded as the other two Aldreenians followed suit. "We've discussed it, and we think we deserve some answers."

"You never mentioned--"

"We're mentioning it now."

Shien glanced back and forth nervously. "Y-you're not planning a mutiny, are you?"

"Believe me, if we were that disloyal, we would have overthrown you years ago. We've been patient. Now, why did we go through all the energy to kidnap Q, from a fucking Federation vessel, mind you, and sell him to the Tätarians, only to rescue him on a whimsical display of boredom? Hm?"

"I-I..."

"Well?" Ops demanded from his station.

"I...I felt...guilty. About leaving him there with them."

"You're lying," Trent observed with annoyance. "We've done that sort of thing twenty times over. You seduce some broad, we drag her back to the ship, and then we sell her to who the hell wanted her, whether they're going into slavery or if it was a bounty was not important. You never had a qualm of conscience before. Remember when that Princess Amalexia slapped you and bolted after the spice wore off? Remember how pissed off you were?"

"I--"

"You blew her head off," Conn reminded.

"That was an accident. My phaser was on the wrong setting."

Trent waved it off. "Irregardless. You showed as much concern for her as the rest of us. We even had a good laugh about it. What's different now? Why the show of fucking sympathy? Is it because he's a man? So what is it? Why did we double-back to save him?"

"He would have died--"

"That was the point! Now, stop lying to me." When the other refused to respond, he slammed his fists down on the arm-rests, glowering down at their leader. "Take off your helmet. I'm going to find out myself! You, you hold him down while I--"

"I had a flash of intuition," Shien burst out. "A feeling."

Trent wrinkled his nose. "What?"

"I felt like something was unfinished, and this voice inside me..."

"Oh, great." The doctor threw up his hands. "Now we're being lead by a fucking schizophrenic!"

"No! The voice came from inside me!"

"Where else did you think they came from, idiot? That's why you're insane!"

Ops and Conn exchanged glances. "Shien doesn't look crazy."

"I am not schizophrenic!" Shien huffed.

"Of course you're not," Trent crossed his arms. "You just hear persuasive voices that impose certain behaviors on you."

"It's not someone else's voice, it's my voice. I think."

"Oh, that makes it so much better. What's he telling you now?"

"Goddammit! I only heard it twice: once after you blew up Raruel's ship and a second time when Q almost died from the overdose."

"So Q has a guardian angel, eh? I tend to believe that over the possibility that you may be clairvoyant." He paused a moment then disappeared into the dining area and returned with a sandwich. "Here. Q made five but could only manage to eat three. The only other time I've seen him eat as fast was after we rescued him from Tätanna."

"Ahm..."

At the mention of the human's former captors, Conn sat up. "Did any of you ever wonder why the Tätarians sought us out for capturing Q directly after Raruel commissioned us?"

Shien shook his head, his mouth full. "Coincidence?"

"I've been thinking about this. The Tätarians couldn't possibly have had the capability to figure out on their own that Q had lost his powers and was on the Enterprise. They're as isolated from the rest of the galaxy as Aldreen. The only reason Raruel knew about Q was because he's been searching for someone like him for the past ten years."

"You mean--" Trent frowned, following the other's train of thought. "You think Raruel told Sabin about Q himself? Why would he do that? He wanted Q to lead the reformation for him. What good would it do to invite someone else to outbid him?"

Conn shrugged. "Raruel was acting rather strange. I didn't think much of it at first, but he didn't seem as surprised that we had double-crossed him as he was angry. No, he wanted us to sell Q to the Tätarians because he knew they would kill him. Then he'd disable our ship's propulsion drives, and when the Federation tracked us down..."

"...They would imprison us and consider Q as good as dead," Shien added. "Whereby, they would stop looking for him, leaving Raruel free to rescue Q from his demise and bring him back to Aldreen free of any intervention."

"But we murdered Raruel before he could do it," Ops concluded.

"I don't believe you people." Trent rolled his eyes. "Enough with the stupid conspiracy theories. For one thing, Raruel is..._was_...not that smart. And secondly, that's outright ridiculous."

"Hm. I suppose you're right." Shien finished off his sandwich with another two bites. "So about our new agenda..."

"Not yet. You still haven't explained how Q became dependent on Yalotta. I'd like to know why we're diverting our supplies, it's not like I care or anything." When the other merely twiddled his thumbs in embarrassment, he shook his head. "You did it again, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Damn you and your acquaintance-rape addiction. What is wrong with your self-esteem? I'm thirty years older than you and I can still get women whenever I want!"

Ops seemed passively interested. "So, did you get any from him?"

"Why do you care?" Trent snapped. "For the love of..._don't answer that_!"

"No, I didn't," Shien murmured. "It didn't work. It never works."

The other found himself becoming intrigued despite himself. "What do you mean it never worked? You must've tried it on at least two dozen women in the past ten years. I just naturally assumed you followed through. What, is having them incoherent not good enough for you? Do they have to be unconscious too?"

Shien shifted his weight as the chair suddenly became uncomfortable.

"So you got Q addicted to Yalotta because you don't have the capability to woe anyone honestly. I suppose you also brought him to a bar and told him, 'hey, this is a great place to meet people. Yes, all walks of life. Just sleep with whoever you want. Nothing unfortunate will come of it.'"

"Not in that many words."

"He doesn't have a gambling addiction, too, does he?"

"I didn't take him to the casinos."

Trent snorted. "I'm sure he would have if you _did_."

"Why do you give a damn what habits he picks up, anyway?"

"His habits cost us, that's why," the doctor said easily, walking away. "I think I have all the answers I need. For now." He approached his station at tactical and keyed several displays, turning to address Conn. "Did you program our heading to the Durenda sector?"

"The Durenda sector?" Shien interrupted. "Wh--?"

"We're meeting our contact there, that's why. A woman named Tallera who serves aboard the freighter the _Ktal_. I think she's Romulan. Or Vulcan. I can't tell the difference. Apparently they loaded some cargo, unrefined narcotics mostly, from the mines on Durenia V and she wants us to smuggle it the rest of the way to a small colony here in the Alpha Quadrant for refinement."

"Where in the Alpha Quadrant?"

"The Kanassa system, I believe."

"Isn't that very close to a Federation outpost?"

Trent pursed his lips, nodding. "Three of them, actually."


	9. Chapter 9

**-Past-**

Four days of the same tiresome routine later, the smugglers and Q had arrived to the rendezvous coordinates their contact had specified. A large freight vessel loomed in wait.

"We're being hailed," the doctor said. "I'm putting it onscreen."

Promptly, the viewport filled with the face of a Vulcan woman. Or a Romulan. "I am Tallera of the _Ktal_. To whom am I addressing?"

Shien stood, clasping his hands together in his lap. "I am Sal Shien. You spoke to my associate Trenton before."

"Yes. We are carrying thirty-seven crates that must be delivered to the refining colony on the second moon of the Kanassa system in no later than five days. Is that satisfactory?"

Shien's eyes darted to Q for a brief moment, who was quietly sitting in the chair beside him, hands steepled as he passively listened to the exchange. The Aldreenian glanced back at their contact. "It is. We'll send you the coordinates to beam the crates over."

Several minutes later, the crates were secured in the cargo hold. Trenton examined them, thinking out loud to himself, "Hm. Raw carsunum is kept in containers like this." He climbed up the ladder and strolled through the bridge. "The cargo has been beamed safely aboard."

"Then I wish your crew the best of luck," Tallera said. "Because your mission is so dangerous, I will be offering you an additional five percent to the fifteen I already promised if you succeed."

"Twenty percent?" Shien's brows raised substantially. "That's--"

"Ridiculous!" Q interjected forcefully. "We're taking all the risks and you reap the majority of the profit? Do it yourself! How naïve and incompetent do you think--"

"Cram it, Abel!" Trent spat. "Twenty percent is a _very_ generous offer!"

"It's insulting and unfair!"

The doctor massaged his knuckles, mumbling under his breath, "_I'll kill you if you blow this deal_!"

"Who's this?" Tallera seemed mildly amused if not a little annoyed by the human's misbehavior. "A human member of your crew?"

"Don't pay him any mind, Tallera." Shien waved the matter away. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

Q hmphed. "_I _don't know what I'm saying?"

"You can take him," Trent offered, extending his hands to the human as if modeling a brand-new replicator to a potential buyer, "as our assurance that we'll take care of your cargo!" When Shien shot him a dirty look, he shrugged. "What?"

"I'm not risking my life, meaningless and boring as it is, for a mere twenty percent," Q said, wondering if anyone was listening.

Conn swiveled in his seat and whispered so only Q could hear him. "For us, twenty percent is a very large cut. We've made far more dangerous runs for a _forth_ of that. We're only level three smugglers, you know." He paused, then turned back around, adding, "Out of eleven levels."

Q raised a brow.

"If you impress me," Tallera was saying. "I will be more than willing to hire your group again."

"Thank you." Shien's voice was soaked in gratitude. "We will not disappoint you."

They arrived to the Kanassa system after three days of uneventful travel. Conn guided the _Anathema_ to the surface and the smugglers debated their next plan of action.

"I'm getting a bad vibe from this place," Conn murmured, staring out the viewport as if sensing imminent doom. They were several kilometers from the refinery, parked in the middle of a field.

Trent looked askance at him, then turned to their leader. "Speaking of worthless premonitions, what are your _voices_ telling you, Sal?"

Shien ignored him. "We're going to need eight hands to load the crates onto the cart and take it to the depot."

"Well--" The doctor looked over the crew and pointed to one of the Aldreenians. "You stay here and pilot, in case we have to make a quick getaway, as usual."

"No," Shien said. "Q needs to stay behind. He's too inexperienced and this mission is too dangerous for him."

Q drew himself up. "Inexperienced? Dangerous? I'll have you know that--"

"You're right," Trent amended. "He'd fuck it up. Conn, you're coming with us then. Show Q how to operate your station and let's go."

Before the human could finish his protest, the others had already climbed down the cargo-hold to unload the raw carsunum.

* * *

They had been gone an hour, having locked the cargo in an anti-grav scan-proof cart that carried the drugs to the refinery.

Q taped on the conn station in boredom, then looked up as he heard shouts. The doctor yelled something, and his voice was followed by clambering footsteps running toward the ship.

Trenton was screaming, his voice drawing closer every second. "Goddammit, Shien! _Leave_ him! _Come on_!" There was a brief pause. "Fuck it, I'm getting out of here!"

A loud boom erupted a great distance away, followed by the screeching of a missile. Clutching his station, Q straightened as Trent stumbled up the ramp. "Start up the engines, Q!" the doctor shouted. "Hurry, you ass! Get us out of here!"

Startled into action, Q hurriedly keyed a series of commands, glancing over his shoulder. "Can't you ever do _anything _quietly?"

Ops ran up the ramp next. "Sal's right behind me."

A split second later, Shien struggled up the entry, carrying Conn over his shoulder. "Lift the ramp up and get us outta here!"

Trent punched the button that sealed the hatch while Q maneuvered the ship off the planet's surface. Minutes later, they broke the atmosphere.

"Argh!" The doctor stomped his foot in frustration. "Those fucking bastards!"

Shien hefted Conn onto the pile of crates that was the makeshift dining table, and stepped back, his face pale with shock.

Trent turned his anger on the younger Aldreenian. "You imbecile! Why did you carry that thing back here?"

"I couldn't just _leave_ him there!"

"That's your excuse for everything! Why not? It's not like bringing him here made him any _less _dead!"

"You fucking prick!" Shien bit his lip, fighting back tears.

"Don't talk to me that way, you--"

"Shut up," Ops muttered. "Both of you. This is _not_ the best time. Sal only did what he thought was right."

Both men fell into a silent stalemate, and Q, having cleared them of any foreseeable danger, ambled over to see what all the commotion was about. His first glance went to the table.

The body of the Aldreenian who had served at the conn station was lying on his back, limbs dangling over the crates. Q looked upward and drew back as he saw that the body's head had almost been completely blown away, leaving only pieces of skull and a portion of the lower jaw. The thick, nauseating stench of burnt flesh assaulted his senses. Blood dripped over the floor and table. Chunks of brain matter and bone fragments were stuck to Shien's armor, which was drenched in a sanguine ooze that had not yet dried. The body's helmet had completely melted into a liquid metal.

He had been hit by a short-range disruptor beam.

Q swallowed, then bolted from the room. He returned five minutes later, his face several shades paler.

The three Aldreenians were still gathered around the body. Shien had fallen to his knees and was sobbing quietly, his face cradled in his still-bloody hands. The doctor was staring at the stump with morbid interest, caught himself, and forced himself to tear his eyes away, glaring silently at a distant corner. Ops shook his head then languidly slumped into his station, glancing at the empty seat beside him every now and then as he brooded.

"Iaris," Shien whimpered through tears.

Q covered his eyes with a hand. How could they stand around the body of their dead crewmember without becoming sick?

Trent returned to his station. "We need to get out of here. They'll follow us."

"Did you beam over those crates yet?" Ops asked.

"Good thing you reminded me." Trent entered a series of commands into a nearby station, checked their position in the cargo hold, and nodded briskly. "All there." He pocketed the spare communicator and input a set of coordinates into the conn station himself. "I'm setting a new course for the Hels'ath sector." That would be a good place to sell the processed raethemine they had stolen from the refinery. Scratching his chin, he looked to the ops pilot beside him. "I don't know what we're going to do with this body. What do you think, Karne?"

"Go to Aldreen. And bury him."

The doctor sighed. "You know we can't do that. We didn't even return to Aldreen when Tallus died."

Shien had calmed to the occasional sniffling, but the mention of his late uncle's name threw him into another fit of tears. Q watched, tapping his foot.

The doctor glanced at Shien then gestured with his chin for them to follow him into the conference room, which also doubled as his bedroom.

"Shien," he elaborated, stating the obvious for Q's sake, "does not cope with death very well. You'd think he would've become accustomed to it by now, but I suppose he's a pure Aldreenian in that respect. Emotional about everything."

"How much longer will he be acting like that?" Q said.

"Oh, he'll carry on like that for a few more hours. Then he'll go into a trance for several days, and when he comes out of it, he'll be just fine."

Karne heaved a sigh. "I'm not getting that worked up, and Iaris was my brother."

"Hm," the other agreed.

Q placed his hands on his hips. "I demand to know what happened."

"We dropped off the cargo just fine," Trent explained. "But when we got there we were ambushed by Ferengi pirates. Apparently they had been tracking us since we first picked up the cargo. Well, we managed to kill all of them, deposit the cargo and get our payment, but when we were leaving, their buddies showed up and--obviously--killed Iaris." The doctor shrugged, then seemed to remember something. "We better get rid of this body before the ship smells _worse _than it already does. Q, Karne, come here and help me."

"And get blood on me?" Q snorted. "You're the doctor, bathing in the body fluids of others is _your_ specialty."

Ops, however, volunteered his services without any visible protest and they made their way back to the body.

"Maybe fucking up this mission would've been worth it if it meant trading Iaris' life with that jerk's," Trent mumbled, indicating the body. "You take the arms, I'll take the legs. Okay."

"What?" Shien looked up, his face smeared with blood that had rubbed off from his hands. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I won't toss the body out the airlock, but I'm not leaving it here in plain sight, either. Okay, Karne, on _one_." They gripped the chosen body parts and nodded. "_One_."

They lifted the body easily, then Ops frowned. "Where are we _putting_ him?"

"I was thinking the storeroom--in one of the empty chambers, the ones we preserve the raw Yalotta in."

Using the transporter, they packed away and sealed the body in one of the chambers used to preserve drugs and other perishable items.

"When we arrive to the Hels'ath sector, we'll bury the body," the doctor said, dusting his hands. Karne sat at his station out of mere force of habit. Q was eating his third full-course meal of the day. Shien was still sitting on the floor in the same deep trance, his face a mask.

Ops grunted in acknowledgment.

Silence fell on the crew, and Trent glanced to the human. "Well, Q. It seems you're up for promotion."

Shien bowed his head. "Do you have to bring that up _now_?"

Q wiped his hands on a napkin and looked over his shoulder. "What, is your position vacant?"

"Don't make me laugh," Trent said. "I'm talking about the conn station."

"I'm not playing _navigator_! Do you realize how prone those stations are to short-circuiting?"

"Well you can't have tactical! And we're not hiring a new pilot, either. Whose position do you fucking _want_?"

"_His_." Q pointed decisively to Shien. The smuggler blinked in surprise.

"Fool, Shien isn't going to just hand you the captain's chair--"

"Okay," Shien said, shrugging. "That's fine with me."

Trent's jaw dropped. It was a priceless expression. "What the hell did you just say?"

"I said he could have it. I don't want it anymore. Too many people have died because of me."

"Shien, Iaris' death was unavoidable. And besides... _I'm_ entitled to the command position. The only reason you have command right now is because of your damn uncle. Pure favoritism." His voice suddenly became earnest as he leaned forward. "And what does Q know about drug smuggling? If you want to renounce command, fine, but at least hand it over to someone who's qualified!"

"You talk as if drug smuggling requires _skill_," Q said.

"It requires knowledge of the systems..."

"Check."

"A certain amount of guile and cleverness..."

"Mmhm."

"And the ability to forge contacts and establish relationships."

"Well, I know I have you beat on at least _two _of those criteria."

"You smug--!" Trent balled his hands into fists. "You don't have a fucking clue!"

Q stood up. "You're beginning to annoy me."

"I'm beginning to annoy _you_? Ridiculous! That's _it! _I've _had it _with you!"

Shien watched this exchange turn heated with wariness. "You two settle this between yourselves."

"Yes, _Trenton_," Q sneered. "Let's settle this."

The doctor was already in the process of removing his gloves. "I'd love to, _Abel_."

Karne hurried to the other side of the bridge to get a better view of the coming fight. "This is childish," he announced. "I'm betting on Abel."

"Shut up!" Trent spat.

Q smirked and followed suit, tossing his gloves aside. Then he made a goading motion. "This is your chance to convince me why I'm your lowly subordinate."

Shaking his head, Trent got in a ready stance, fists raised in the typical fashion. "I've been imagining this for a long while."

The human did not settle into any type of fighting posture and just stood there, analyzing the other's movements.

"Not going to defend yourself? Fine, that makes it easier for me." The doctor felt no need to hold back. He wanted to make his feelings on the matter perfectly clear. In a burst of energy, he sped forward, moving to deliver a swift hook to the human's jaw.

Q sidestepped it.

Not losing momentum, Trent swung again, only to be blocked. This happened several more times, each of his punches being easily blocked or avoided by the other. The doctor fumed. "Enough of this defensive fighting! Fight like a man. Or whatever you are."

"Oh, no!" Q exclaimed. "Did you just insult my precious masculinity?" He batted away a fist and continued to berate his opponent. "If you are _so _much more competent than me, why can't you hit me?"

Setting his teeth, Trent launched himself into motion again, right fist extended. Q could have simply avoided the blow and dealt a swift upper-cut, but instead he caught the doctor's wrist with his left hand and stepped under the outstretched arm, twisting it as he applied pressure to the side of Trent's imprisoned hand.

The doctor cried out as his arm, elbow locked, was painfully wrenched. He reflexively jumped to the tips of his toes to avoid injuring himself by struggling. "Argh! That _hurts_! Let _go_ of me!"

Q twisted the arm just a little more, nodding as the other cursed. "Isn't this how you mortals normally solve all your disputes?"

"Not usually in such an entertaining fashion, no," Karne said from the sidelines.

Trent tried to swing at Q and kick at him, but the human only twisted his arm further until it was taunt and approaching the point of spraining the elbow. "Fuck! Okay! Okay! God! I give up! Just...let go of my arm! _Please_!"

Q instantly released his hold, point having been made. A lingering feeling of _déjà vu _passed over him.

Trent clutched the injured arm protectively. It had gone numb. Grudgingly, he gathered up his wounded pride and stood behind his tactical station, silently thankful the human had not used any _offensive_ maneuvers on him. "We should be in Hels'ath in a week," he announced softly.

* * *

The doctor had been right. After only five days of quiet isolation and blank facial expressions, Shien gradually slipped out of his grieving trance and returned to his normal self. This was greeted with relief by Q and the two Aldreenians, who were quite uncomfortable this constant reminder that their companion had died. Never mentioning it again was much easier.

Along the way to their destination to the Hels'ath sector, the crew stopped off at small outposts and planets every few days to gather supplies and make small, risk-free runs to earn extra money. Contact with Tallera was made, and they were handsomely rewarded for their successful run. She promised that they would cross paths again.

A week later, they arrived to Hels'ath unmarred.

"Now," Trent thought outloud as he studied the system's charts. "We just need to find the right planet to sell this cargo. Gnis has no market economy and Telrauhn is too--"

"Calderia," Q interjected, already punching in the coordinates.

"How did you--?" The doctor cut himself off, already knowing the answer. He modified the question. "Why Calderia?"

The human sighed. "The Calderians are intensive agriculturists with a healthy exchange economy. And they're open to outsiders."

Shien looked over Q's shoulder at the coordinates. "They'll provide a balanced trade for the raethemine, you mean."

Q nodded, guiding them toward the small backwater planet.

"I'm picking up subspace disturbances," Ops noted. "I can't see anything of the planet's surface."

"That's fine, I have it under control," Q assured him.

"But what if we hit some mountains?" Shien stammered. "Or in an ocean? Or--?"

"Calderia is perfectly flat without any mountain ranges or large water masses," Q said, smiling as he worked the console. These mortal creatures worried too much.

The Aldreenians held their breath as the human guided the ship to the planet's surface with ease. Confident with the human's obvious superior knowledge of the area, they grudgingly allowed him to make the decisions.

With the _Anathema_ on ground, Q lowered the ramp. When no one followed him, he turned to find the others blinking at him. "Now what are you gawking at?"

"We're just," Karne said, "surprised. No one has taken charge like this before."

"Mhm," Trent agreed, his eyes focused pointedly on Shien, who narrowed his eyes.

"Well, then!" Q clapped his hands. "This should be an expedition for you." With that, he disappeared down the ramp.

Gingerly, the three Aldreenians followed him out the vessel and jolted as they heard their self-appointed leader exclaim a loud, flamboyant curse.

They found Q waist-deep in an ocean of snow, his hands making wide sweeping motions. "Why the hell didn't our sensors pick_ this_ up?" He gestured expansively at the wide array of frost that covered everything in sight. No trees. No vegetation. Just snow.

"I told you," Karne murmured simply, noting how the ship was sinking in the dense, white substance.

Trent surveyed the landscape. Calderia was in fact a wasteland of artic tundra. "So," he started wryly. "What is it that the intensive agriculturalists of Calderia cultivate, exactly? If it's snow, I'm afraid they need to be informed about the concept of supply and demand."

Q shivered in the cold, rubbing his arms. "They were farmers ten thousand years ago." Suddenly, he slapped his forehead. "_That's_ it! Calderia experienced a global ice age five thousand years ago." He set his teeth, frustrated at himself. He should've remembered that.

Shien stumbled in the thick powder, attempting to gain his balance. "How could you forget something like _that_?"

"Excuse me if my memory is not as _infallible _as it once was," Q snapped.

"Well," the Aldreenian said, slowly paddling his way to the human's side. "Do you remember if the inhabitants survived?"

"If they did, I wouldn't recognize them." He wondered how they would have adapted to their new environment.

"Is _that_ them?" Trent drew their attention to the distant horizon.

On cue, a group of stocky bipedal figures approached. The smugglers tensed defensively, preparing to fire their weapons at the slightest hint of aggression.

At first it seemed as if the creatures had large flippers and fur covering the entirety of their bodies. But as they drew closer, their true structures were revealed.

"What the hell?" a man bundled in a thick coat exclaimed. "What are you four doing here, landing so far away from the settlement?"

Q raised a brow. "Settlement?"

"Yeah. A kilometer east of here, there's an underground settlement."

"What are you doing out here dressed like that anyhow?" a similarly-dressed woman chimed in, pointing at their armor. "You'll freeze yourselves. And where are your snow-shoes?"

"We were expecting warmer weather," Trent provided, shooting Q a dirty look.

"Well, it should begin to snow soon as night approaches." The man, apparently a guard of some capacity, keyed a communication device. "You better bring your ship to the hangar bay before it sinks in the snow. Send out a distress signal and someone will help guide you safely in. I'll meet you there."

With that, the group waddled away.

The four mercenaries expelled the breaths they were holding, their shoulders slumping in relief.

Trent wiped cold sweat from his brow. "Am I the only one who almost had a heart attack?"

Q was already half-running, half-lumbering back to the ship. "I think I'm contracting hypothermia! I can't feel my legs!"

"You mean frostbite?"

The comment only made the human multiply his pace. "That's all I need now!"

Shien turned back to the doctor, giving him a pointed look. "Should we, you know..."

"I'll transport it about seven feet below the ground's surface, right here." Trent pointed to the snow in front of him. "And Karne, you can say a few words."

Ops nodded, staring at the patch of snow thoughtfully.

Twenty minutes later, after a quick ceremony and much deliberation and arguments, the group reached a consensus to take the guard up on his offer, and the _Anathema _was soon docked in Calderia's underground hangar-bay.

As he had promised, the Calderian guard was patiently standing outside the ship. He was missing his hat and outer layers of clothing, exposing his skin. Using technology to curtail the dangers of their planet's harsh climate, the Calderians had obviously bypassed the need to significantly evolve to adapt to their environment, other than five extra layers of gray skin.

The man caught Q staring at him and smiled slightly. "Never seen a Calderian before, eh? Doesn't surprise me. We enjoy our seclusion, but now that you are here, I welcome you. I'm Lieutenant Nuccius, and I'll take you to the outpost."

As they started walking, Shien nodded to Q. "He seems nice enough."

Q rolled his eyes at his companion's trusting nature. "Of course. They're _always_ nice before they bake you in their oven."

"I have to apologize for the lack of wildlife," Nuccius was saying. "But travelers rarely seem to mind. Where are you fellows from?" When they didn't readily respond, the guard stopped. "You aren't refugees, are you?"

"No," Shien said slowly. "I think the more appropriate word would be, ah, _dissidents_."

"Ah. All right." He continued to walk with renewed confidence. "You can imagine we get a lot of refugees and transients expecting us to take them under our wing, which we don't tolerate. They're burdens on the economy." They entered the outpost, a small town equipped with a variety of tidy shops and homes. "Here we are. So, what are you fellows?"

"What do you mean by that?" Q curled his lips, expecting some kind of trick. "We're _individuals_, that's what we are! What's your angle? Planning to entice us into joining your little cult? I don't think so! I'll have you know that--"

The lieutenant shielded himself from the accusations with raised palms. "No, hardly not! I should have phrased that better. What I meant was: are you artifact smugglers, traders, or drug traffickers?"

Trent's jaw actually dropped from the bluntness.

"Because I can point you in the correct direction. I know you're definitely not artifact smugglers--you're carrying no obvious equipment or insisting that someone remain at the ship. And you're much too paranoid to be simple traders. Well, that answers that. All right, follow me. You'll want to visit Sadri's tavern then. It's over this way. She'll tell you who--"

"Whoa, wait!" Shien ran up next to the Calderian. "You don't give a shit if we're drug smugglers? You won't turn us in to the nearest authority? Or do a background check on our records? Or imprison us?"

"God, Sal," Trent grumbled. "Why don't you just tell him we're convicted serial rapists, while you're at it?"

Nuccius shrugged, unsurprised by their shock. "I really don't care if you _are_. As long as you don't break any laws here, who you are means little to me, or to anyone else. And as long as you are not beggars or transients, we have no reason to enact our strictest penalty against you. Our economy is trade-based, so any contribution you make is greatly appreciated. That is why we allow the artifact smugglers to buy our deeply valued relics and excavate our abandoned ruins. As long as it benefits the economy. All we ask in return is that you take some of our principle export back with you."

Q was still skeptical. "Oh, and what may that be? Tie-dye T-shirts?"

"Close." Nuccius indicated a nearby shop with a vast variety of pelts hanging in the window. "Salted guarlak meat and guarlak skins."

The human wrinkled his nose and shuddered. "I would rather--"

"We'll do it," Trent said. "Anything to be left alone."

After escorting them to the desired tavern, Nuccius clasped each of their hands and turned on his heel in the opposite direction.

The doctor thoughtfully watched as the guard became lost in the sea of pedestrians. "I'm beginning to like this place already. Now, I want everyone on their best behavior. We don't need to be kicked off _another _planet."

Q straightened, insulted. "What are you looking at _me _for?"

"No one else around here has a history of starting bar fights, do they?"

"But I don't _start _the bar fights!"

"Yeah, but you go out of your way to provoke them." When Q was unable to refute that statement without outright lying, Trent nodded, and they proceeded into the depths of the pub.

Q had instinctively held his breath, expecting the usual barrage of smoke and body odors to pervade his senses. Instead, he was assaulted with the gentle scent of alcohol and a soft aroma akin to that of fresh lavender. It took him a brief moment of thoughtful inspection to regain his bearings.

A Calderian woman called out to them from the bar. "Oh, drug smugglers! I haven't seen any in such a long time! Please, take a seat at the bar. I'll bring you four a round of drinks."

At her exclamation, a number of the patrons swiveled in their seats to peek at the newcomers. Some nodded and tipped their hats, others shrugged and turned back to their conversations, and a pair of men at the bar scrutinized them closely. Even when the men turned away, Q could feel the corners of their eyes constantly trained on him.

Cautiously, the three Aldreenians and the human claimed four of the seven stools by the counter, which placed Q directly next to the two suspicious men, who were talking in hushed tones.

The woman set four mugs filled with some sort of beer before them. "As Nuccius probably already told you, I'm Sadri. What brings you boys here? Are you looking for a contact? Or are you hoping to sell some cargo?"

"Both, really," Shien replied, pausing to sip his beverage. "But as of now, we have two hundred eighty canisters of processed raethemine we would like to sell."

Whether it was due to the amount or the type of substance, Shien didn't know, but the woman's eyes widened slightly. "Two hundred eighty canisters of raethemine, you say? Hmm." She seemed to ponder it a moment, then turned to the man sitting beside Q. "Jarden? Any idea who would have the ability to buy that much raethemine?"

"You know that's not my realm of expertise, Sadri," Jarden said before turning to his companion. "What do you think?"

The second man did not seem to hear the question. He was too preoccupied with observing Q. It was neither a hateful nor friendly gaze, but a penetrating stare that sent shivers down the human's spine. It took all of Q's inner self-restraint not to sling insults at the man and ridicule his lack of apparent manners. And Q did not have a large supply of self-restraint.

Trent waved a hand. Perhaps this was not the best planet to sell their narcotics after all. "Maybe we should--"

"Dessica II," the second man said. "You're from Dessica II, aren't you?"

Shien narrowed his eyes, choosing his words carefully. "Why do you say that?"

"I've heard rumors. About four low-level Aldreenian drug smugglers who frequent Dessica II."

"And what are these...rumors?"

The man shrugged, scratching his chin. "That they kidnapped a Federation citizen, a human male, from a Starfleet vessel five months ago. I don't remember the details, but there was some reason he was kidnapped, some significant attribute. What I _do_ remember is that there is a substantial bounty out for their capture."

"You must have us confused with another group of Aldreenian drug smugglers," Trenton announced. "As you can see, there are only_ three _of us."

"It was three of them that were reported on the ship, a Sal Shien and his bodyguards. And what about him?" The man indicated Q. "Is it just a coincidence that you happen to be affiliating yourself with a human male?"

"You mean Abel? He's human? I hardly noticed."

The man's tone turned dark. "Don't mock me."

Shien interjected before Trent could fire off a scathing remark. "Look, we rescued Abel from Cardassians. He's our leader. And besides, he's a citizen of Dessica II. Never set foot on a Starfleet ship."

Jarden regarded Q curiously. "Your leader doesn't talk very much."

Trent scoffed. "You're going to eat your words, my friend."

"Ah." The second man smiled slightly, as if he had an ace hidden in one of his sleeves. "So your human companion is a Dessican citizen? Then I surmise he must have that atrocious accent of theirs. Unless through some stroke of coincidental_ luck_ he happens to have amnesia and speaks like the average, educated Federation citizen."

Shien heard the doctor groan, _"Shit, we're fucked now,"_ under his breath. The Dessican accent was one of the most difficult for an outsider to master, and its difficulty enabled the citizenry to easily differentiate between the Dessican-raised and the foreigner. Many, such as Asangi, tried to copy the vernacular in the hopes of gaining the respect of those naturalized citizens, who tended to treat outsiders with disdain. But, Shien noted, unlike Q, Asangi was not half as successful at pulling it off.

Q noticed Shien staring at him and nodded. With some reluctance, the human leaned back against the counter, assuming the pose of his alter ego as he slipped into the Dessican dialect. "Atrocious? What th' fuck is wrong with th' Dessican dialect?"

If the man was surprised, he managed to maintain his skepticism. "It sounds ridiculous. That dialect is a constant demonstration of a Dessican's lack of education with their substandard grammar and syntax."

"Well," Q drawled. "Inna linguistical sense, there ain't no such thing as 'bad grammar,' since th' Dessican dialect's jus' as effectual as any other 'n communicatin'. How inept d'ya have t' be t' confuse me with one of those Federation snobs? Don't 'nsult me."

"He sounds Dessican to me," Jarden affirmed. "Well, Baran? What do you think?"

Baran hmphed, but seemed to relent slightly, standing. "Let's return to the excavation site. We're behind schedule enough as it is." And without further examination, both artifact smugglers paid for their drinks and exited the tavern. At the door, Baran glanced over his shoulder at Q, as if memorizing his face.

"That was close," Shien murmured, scooping blond hair out of his eyes.

Trent and Karne were staring at Q with mouths agape. When the former spoke, his voice suspicious. "Where the hell did you learn to speak like that?"

Q shrugged with false modesty. "Oh, just the usual sorts of places..."

"Who taught you?"

"He taught himself," Shien explained like an overbearing parent boasting about his offspring's exploits. "He's got some kind of accelerated learning capabilities. That's how he completed his training so quickly. Dren thought he has some ability akin to photographic reflexes."

"Photographic reflexes? You're mixing metaphors, there's no such..." The doctor trailed off. On the other hand, that would explain a few things. "Why the hell didn't you tell me about this _before_?"

"Why didn't you ask me when you had the chance"

Trent cast the comment away and directed his attention back to the former entity. "Well, if a lowlife artifact smuggler knows so much about us, there's no telling who else does. You're going to have to use that irritating accent now whenever we're in public."

"I'll only do it because it _suits _me," Q affirmed. That, and a part of him kind of enjoyed playing his alias, pretending to be someone much more confident than himself.

After collaborating with a number of other patrons, Sadri established a prospective buyer for their substantial cargo, and directed the smugglers to his service stall. It was an intense negotiation, but with the aid of some wise, well-timed tactics on Q's part and an idle promise to export a few loads of guarlak hide, they walked away with their pockets literally full of latinum.

Trent bounded up the _Anathema_'s ramp, filled with palpable jubilation. "Yes! Fuck, yes! This is _spectacular_!"

"Two hundred ninety bars of latinum!" Shien said, his excitement matching that of the others. "This is a small fortune! I can't believe it."

"I've been waiting for this for ten goddamn years!" The doctor had converted his share of the profit into strips, and was tossing the many slips of latinum into the air and across the bridge like so much confetti. He chuckled loudly.

Even Karne joined the celebration, quietly shinning his bars with a clean rag and beaming widely.

"God, I've never seen this much latinum in one place before," Shien was saying, just staring at the twinkling bricks in his lap in utter awe.

"Now," Trent said as he rubbed his palms together, speaking directly to his fortune, "What am I going to do with you little guys? Maybe I'll buy a new tricorder. Top-of-the-line equipment. And a top-of-the-line prostitute too. Marvelous. What about you, Sal?"

Shien stroked his chin, gazing at the ceiling as he contemplated it. "Fifteen grams of the thickest, purest Yalotta spice attainable."

Q, who had been sitting in his corner watching this avarice-inspired spectacle with detached interest, perked slightly. "You're going to buy _drugs_?"

"Mmm, yes. I can just _taste_ it now."

The other steepled his hands. "With the latinum you just earned selling drugs?"

"Of course. What good is latinum if you don't spend it?"

"Don't you find that--?" Q cut himself off, abandoning the question. "Never mind."

Trent was now stacking his latinum into neat piles designated to their future purchases. "And what about you, Karne?"

"I'm going to buy us a dining table. And update the navigation systems and sensor array. The rest I'll deposit into a safe account."

"Practical as always." Trent's attention fell on Q. "Well, Q? You get a fair share too, of course. You are the one, after all, who brought us here and helped negotiate the price. What're you going to do with_ your _earnings?"

Q regarded his own stockpile of latinum disdainfully. "Do I look like a Ferengi to you? I'm above such base motivations as wealth accumulation."

"He said the same thing about violence, and sex, and alcohol, and drugs," Shien pointed out, ticking each item off on his fingers.

"So this," Trenton fanned out the pile of latinum slips designated to the prostitute and waved them alluringly under Q's nose. "Doesn't entice you? Not in the least bit?"

Q tossed his head. "Not in the least bit."

"But you must want things. Nice clothes, possessions..."

"All meaningless. A façade. Illusions distracting the simple-minded from the realities of mortality. No matter how many possessions you accrue, it doesn't make death any less inescapable. As they say, you can't take your possessions with you after you die."

"Well, obviously. Don't you think we all know that? But our greed keeps us busy. Gives us purpose. And we use our 'meaningless' possessions to forge our own identities. This ship, for instance. Ten years of our history, our present, right here. Whether or not it's wealth accumulation isn't the point. This medical bag right here? This is_ me_. And Karne...Karne collects fucking _rocks_."

"I wanted to be a geologist," Ops stated airily. "And they're not rocks, they're minerals."

"Whatever. And Sal...oh, don't get me started. He collects old pornographies from all corners of the galaxy." He laughed when Shien's face reddened. "He calls it a lost art."

Q remembered the vast array of possessions Picard had collected-- books, artifacts, awards, art. Some of it the captain hid and some of it he displayed prominently. Q had none of that, but would it change anything?

"Oh, and what could I possibly collect that would have any use to me? Before, if I ever desired something, I would just--"

"Pull it out of your godly ass, yes. I know. Well, possessions are prized because of their inherent uniqueness and value to its owner, not their superficial, material quality."

"It wouldn't change anything."

"No," Trent agreed, rearranging his stack of latinum. "But it _would _make your life less boring. And if your life is less boring, you'll whine less. And we _all _benefit from that."

* * *

Then they were on their way to Sector 3 in the Beta Quadrant to meet another of Trent's many contacts. It had been a little over five months since Q had lost his powers, and the Aldreenian noticed with growing concern that he was acting more and more paranoid and irritable, prowling around the ship and behaving like an animal sensing an oncoming earthquake. Clearly, his behavior was not tied to the anniversary, but something else the others could not understand.

"What's the stardate?" Q demanded, pacing across the bridge.

"Can't you count? You asked me that yesterday." Trent glanced at his readout screen. "It's stardate 43979.4."

"How long will it be until we reach the sector?"

"Three weeks, same as yesterday!"

Q resumed his nervous actions, then stopped again. "Have you noticed anything odd in the news reports?"

"What? Get out of here! If I saw anything amiss, don't you think I'd tell you? Go to the engine-room and do something productive, like clean the warp nacelles!"

The human was already walking in that direction. This was utterly nerve-wreaking. Was it possible that losing his powers had somehow altered the timeline? Q was almost certain it should have happened by now, and his helplessness in the matter was driving him insane.

And it only got progressively worse. Q spent every waking moment (which consisted of twenty-two hours each day) down in engine-room tweaking the warp drive to meet his elaborate specifications. At first the Aldreenians had been disgruntled about what he was up to, terrified that his alterations would blow up the vessel, but after a while they decided that such a result was better than the alternative-- allowing an impatient and equally obnoxious Q to roam the ship freely.

"Hand me that hyperspanner, would you?" Q pointed to a device several meters beyond his reach, lying on the cluttered floor.

Shien scratched his head and flicked his eyes around the engine-room and retrieved an object. "Is this it?"

Hyperspanner in hand, Q bent down, returning to work. He had spent a substantial amount of his latinum at an outpost gathering various types of tools and materials, and now sat cross-legged on the floor carefully welding and otherwise piecing together something that was still quite unidentifiable.

The Aldreenian sat beside the human and looked over his shoulder, watching him mold the materials to his own mental designs. "Where are your plans?"

"Don't need any." He held the piece he was currently manufacturing to the light, analyzing it a moment before resuming.

"What are you making, anyway?" When the other didn't respond, Shien explored the room, uncovering a sealed container from underneath a pile of paraphernalia. Curiosity overwhelming him, he opened the capsule and peered inside. "What the?" He plucked a translucent yellow crystal from its cushion and studied it. "This isn't dilithium."

"Very good. It's synthrium. And I wouldn't touch it with your bare hands." When Shien instantly began to fumble it, he added with a smirk, "and I wouldn't drop it either. It's rather volatile."

Shien quickly returned the crystal to its proper place and jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands on his clothes as if that would help. "Are you serious?"

Q actually chuckled, watching the other man fret over the condition of his skin. "No."

Shien dropped his hands, deflated. "Oh, that's nice!"

The other was about to retort when Trenton drifted in and stood in the doorway. "Uhm, Q? You said you wanted me to tell you if the daily reports turned up anything unusual, right? I, uh, well, I think this might qualify."

Q shuddered.

"What happened?" Shien frowned, concerned. "The Federation isn't chasing after us again, are they?"

"Oh, I think we're the least of the Federation's concerns right now."

That statement could only mean one thing. Without need of further goading, Q followed the doctor to the bridge and waited to be shown the reports, dreading every second until they were in his hands.

"I don't understand it," Trent was saying as he read. "I've never heard of these creatures they're describing. What is a Borg, anyway?"

Q's brow frayed as he reviewed information being displayed. "This isn't right."

"What _is_ right about it?"

"This many mortals were not supposed to die."

"Wait, you mean you knew about this beforehand?" Shien blinked as he read over Q's shoulder. "That's why you were acting so anxious! Captain Picard was captured by these Borg? Should we do something about this?"

Trent shook his head. "What could we possibly do about it?"

Q tossed the padd out of his sight and folded his arms. "How long would it take to reach Sector 001?"

"Not long. We're passing right by it." The doctor paused in his calculations. "You can't seriously be thinking about delaying us to go to _Earth_, can you?"

"So do your little thing and set a course--"

"Who died and named you leader?" Trent interrupted forcefully. "I don't need to take orders from you!"

"I thought we settled this already."

"We settled nothing. We reached a stalemate!"

"Oh, that's not how _I _remember it." Q glanced at Shien. "Is that my faulty memory again?"

Trent stared at Shien, expecting him to mediate. "Sal, you decide, right now. Who should lead? Me, or this prick?"

"Yeah, that's not a loaded question," Q said.

Shien shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Honestly, I'd have to go with the prick." When the other Aldreenian's face reddened in outrage, he defended his stance. "Look, you're a good, er, _decent_ friend, Trent. You've been _around _for me ever since I was a child, but--but if..." He trailed off, unable to finish.

"I think what Shien is trying to say," Karne continued helpfully, "is that if you were in command, you'd probably sell us into slavery without a second thought."

"That's ridiculous! I would never--" Trent cut himself off, considering it. "Well, maybe. Yeah, I probably would. Depending on what I'd get in exchange, of course."

"And besides," Shien went on. "Q at least deserves a chance to prove himself."

Q clasped his hands together. "That sounds like three against one. Ah, isn't democracy wonderful?"

"Only when it works to your advantage," Trent grumbled bitterly.

"Now which of my minions is going to set a course?"

"I will." Shien started keying commands into the conn station. "There. We'll reach Earth in two and a half days at warp seven. Why do you want to go there, anyway? I thought you told me it was boring as all hell."

"It is. But while we're in the neighborhood, I might as well stop by and chat with my human _brothers_." His tone was dark and sarcastic, but he was smiling pleasantly. "Perhaps they can give me some insights on the vast complexities of being human."

Of course, that wasn't the only reason.

Q did not sleep a moment in the next two days, working himself to the point of utter exhaustion.

His current endeavor required him to reroute the ship's core network and add new equipment he had developed over the past few weeks into all the key processing units. He did this at night, since that way he could shut down the engines, letting the ship coast, and conduct his activities in stark quiet.

Then he dropped the hyperspanner, which clanked across the metal floor loudly. Muttering to himself about clumsy opposable thumbs, Q bent to grab the lost item, then cried out in a mixture of pain and surprise as his forehead smacked against the corner of one of the consoles. His hands clutching his stinging forehead, he stumbled in the dark, tripping over a bundle of exposed wires and falling forward. The instrument in his hands flew across the room and he locked his elbows and threw out his hands, preparing for the fall.

_Oh, fuck. _This was going to hurt.

Instead of snapping his elbows from under the pressure and severely injuring himself, however, some imbedded instinct kicked in and he tucked his head down and let himself fall, rolling on his shoulder. When he righted himself, he found himself sitting on the opposing side of the bridge. His forehead throbbed faintly.

A door hissed open and a bleary-eyed Shien padded onto the bridge. "Q?" He yawned. "What time is it?"

Q checked his internal clock, guessing. "O-four-hundred."

"You're up early."

"I never went to bed." Off the other's questioning look, he elaborated. "I can't fall asleep."

"Did you try my little remedy? Did you warm up some milk and dissolve two grams Yalotta spice in it?"

Q shook his head, rising to his feet. "You don't understand. I'm quite capable of falling asleep on my own, it doesn't take _that _much effort. I did it my first day rather successfully. I just don't _want _to sleep. It's bad enough that my life expectancy has been cut by uh, a _trillion_ years. I'm not going to waste a third of the remainder sleeping."

Shien squinted, watching as Q resumed his work. "If you didn't notice, sleep is sort of necessary."

"I didn't say I was going to stop sleeping cold-turkey, did I? I'm just going to cut down."

"And what's wrong with sleep, anyway? You don't have nightmares anymore, so it should be restful, pleasant."

"It's boring."

Shien laughed. "Boring? That's the first time I've ever heard it described that way. How can you even tell if you're asleep?"

"I'm not doing anything. Just lying there for several hours, not moving. Making nasal and bodily noises I have no control over. No, I'd much rather be productive and make use of the fleeting, linear time I have left."

"Ahh." The Aldreenian fixed two cups of coffee for both of them. "A few weeks ago you seemed content to just drink, eat, party, and provoke bar fights, rambling about the inherent meaningless of life. What's that old Earth phrase? Deem carp?"

"_Carpe Diem_."

"Yes. 'Fuck the future, live in the pleasures of the present.'"

"That's not an exact translation," Q corrected with a slight smirk. "But it'll suffice."

"Well, are you telling me now that you no longer believe life_ is _meaningless?"

"Hardly. I _know_ mortal life, as a whole, is fundamentally meaningless. But not to the mortals living it themselves. They somehow still have the gall to continue living in the face of their obvious absurdity."

"We're crazy like that. So now you've suddenly decided to make your life amount to something? Or are you still trying to get back into the Continuum?"

Q laughed unpleasantly. "I'm going to have to accept the possibility that the Continuum may never take me back. It's happened to others. And you make it sound as if I've gone through some kind of spiritual awakening."

"Well, you sort of did, didn't you? You almost _died_, after all. Not many humans are confronted with that."

And it was having a greater impact on Q than he wanted to admit. "Yes, well, don't read into it too much."

Shien sipped from his mug, deciding to drop the subject. "What are you doing, anyway? I'm no engineer, but it looks like you're tinkering with our cloaking device."

"In layman's terms, I'm reconfiguring the cloaking device to simultaneously alter the ship's energy signatures and create a holographic image buffer; much more useful than a mere cloak. When I'm done, which could be in a few hours if you leave me alone, this ship will be capable of assuming the appearance of several hundred preprogrammed vessels with different subspace harmonic frequencies and will be impervious to even the most powerful system-wide scans." Q paused a moment, gloating. "You can commend me for my genius whenever you wish."

"I don't know what to say."

The human smiled thinly at that, and several hours of continuous labor later, he refastened the floor-plates and returned power to the bridge. He then reconfigured the computers, which occupied another hour. By nine-hundred hours, he was finished.

"We've reached Sector 001," Trenton announced from his station. "We should be in range of transport to Earth in around forty-five minutes."

Q raised a dramatic finger in the air, his low voice booming. "Engage holographic buffer number septem-unus-quinque-novem-duo-quinque-quattuor!"

"Holographic buffer engaged!" the doctor proclaimed, meeting his decisive tone as he set the parameters into the console.

"Well, did it work?"

"How can I tell? Everything seems to be functioning just fine." In response to his question, Q came up from behind him and looked over his shoulder at the readout screen. Trenton stiffened uncomfortably as the human invaded his personal space and pressed a number commands.

Q finally withdrew and walked across the bridge.

The doctor cleared his throat noisily. "Well? Is it working?"

The human hummed a few bars of a strange melody under his breath. "Mm, I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

"You weren't able to read my console screen, were you?"

"I can't decipher that garbled excuse of a language."

"How the hell did you manage to reroute our networks and reprogram the computer, then?"

"I used the _Enterprise _as a template."

"It doesn't even have a cloaking device!"

Q made an expansive gesture. "I adopted the effective method of trial and error."

Shien glanced around nervously as if waiting for the ship to spontaneously burst into flames. "I'm just glad the ship's still functioning normally."

"Don't curse it," Q sneered, stalking off. "I'm going to take a shower."

He could make out Trenton rambling curses as he removed himself from hearing range. In his bedroom, he pried off his armor and sent it through the cleaning system. He had yet to pack for his excursion. Not that he had much of anything to bring with him past the usual essentials.

He noticed his hands were trembling slightly, and that he couldn't remember the last time he had taken 'a hit,' as drug-dependant lingo described it.

He unwrapped a Yalotta cube from its packaging (Shien had splurged on a case of some of the finest Yalotta available and had presented him with several cubes) and popped it into his mouth to relieve himself from the mild withdrawal pangs.

There was something about that cube, something he could not pinpoint at first. It had a familiar flavor, although he had not tried this particular kind of spice before. It wasn't any more sour than he was used to; in fact, it was milder, and coated his tongue with a gritty consistency that nearly numbed his mouth. It was strong, and it felt like--

It felt like he had taken more than one cube at once.

This was the environmental trigger his human brain needed to kick in, he realized, accessing a wave of memories that had been filed away and forgotten. With this retrieval cue as the key, the jumble of memories recombined and began to make sense for the first time, bombarding him and demanding that he pay attention.

/ / /

He didn't know how long he had been passed out, but when he awoke in a pool of his own saliva, lying on an unfamiliar bar floor, he realized that he was still thoroughly drunk. Too naïve to understand the implications of this, he groggily sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. Distantly, he could make out someone calling his name like a mantra.

"Abel." The silhouette of a woman towered above him. "It's Bly. I can't just let you lie on my floor like this. You need to get up."

Q rubbed his eyes, then covered them with a hand, the brightness inside the bar giving him a headache. "Go 'way."

Blykal shook her head. "As the saying goes, 'you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.' Unless you're going to buy another drink, that is. Hey, are you listening to me? I don't have to go fetch Ingot, do I?"

The human manifested a cube and dissolved it in his mouth, the Yalotta calming his churning stomach. He managed to snort at her threat to sic the bouncer on him. "Hmph. I'm not going anywhere. I refuse." Frankly, he couldn't have gotten up on his own if he wanted to. He couldn't see more than two feet in front of himself, and everything else was a blur of disorienting motion.

"Is that so?" Her tone was good-natured, but she was a busy woman. "You're a pain in the ass, but I suppose you already know that. If that's the way you want it. Just don't break anything when he comes after you. I'm going to charge you this time. Ingot! Would y--"

"Hold on, hold on!" Another familiar voice drew close, and the spindly figure of Drysten Nentres appeared beside the barmaid. "Don' worry 'bout him, Bly, I'll take care of it. No need t' call Ingot in." When she nodded and retreated, he looked down at Q. "Here, Abe, I'll help ya up." He grabbed the other by the hand and, with the full force of his entire weight, pulled the drowsy human to his feet.

Q scowled at him, supporting himself on one of the tables as he got his bearings. "It's Abel. It's short enough, how lazy do you have to be to leave off one damn syllable?"

The thief blinked at him. "Sorry. Weirdly, yer accent dis'pears when yer angry..."

Q cursed at his mistake. His temples throbbing, he was suddenly acutely aware of everything that was wrong with his body at that moment. His right leg was sore from someone's kick, his calves and pectorals ached from an extensive workout, two fingers on his left hand stung from being wrenched from their sockets, and a pulled muscle in his lower back caused him to wince whenever he moved.

"Maybe," Nentres continued, "y'shouldn't go t' that party with us t'night. Y'look really sickly."

"What?" A woman hurried over, having caught wind of this. "Abe-y has t' go with us! If he's not goin', I'm not goin' neit'er!"

Somehow, the second nickname, though possessing the correct number of syllables, irritated him more than the first. "I'm not in th' mood!" Q snarled.

"Y' only say that 'cause yer not drunk enough!"

"I assure you, my dear, y' could not get me drunk enough t' enjoy that kind of sordid activity."

"Aww," she cooed, pinching his cheek affectionately. "Yer so cute when yer all pet'lant!"

Nentres must have caught the malicious glint in Q's eyes, because he jumped in immediately. "Pandi, y'heard th' man!"

Two men were passing around an andris pipe behind them, and one joined the conversation. "It's gonna be at our place. We got alcohol. Lots of it."

Q felt himself beginning to reconsider. Anything to make the depression go away, anything to allow him to sleep and forget how pathetic his life had become.

If his scummy friends had noticed his change in demeanor, they did not address it, openly supporting his decision to drown out his sorrows. The simplest of solutions.

Soon, two dozen people had expressed interest in the prospective gathering, which the two men announced loudly throughout the lounge and casino. In another blink of Q's eyes, they were out the door, the obnoxious Pandi woman attached to his arm the entire way there.

She was obviously fascinated with him, and he was too absorbed in his own emotional distress to take notice, much less feel irritated any longer by her air-headed antics. He dissolved another Yalotta cube.

Once the music had started, the alcohol passed around and the drinking games commenced, it did not take long for their little gathering to entice neighbors from around the complex to join in the random festivities. Q drank until he couldn't stand up any longer. At first it had been enjoyable, the liveliness of the others inspiring his own excitement. But after the peak, his mood spiraled downward, and he began to question why he had derived any enjoyment from this in the first place.

Normally he was very much entertained by the stripping games, puerile as they were, but this time he felt weary of participating in such a brazen display any longer. When the men obnoxiously started goading the women to engage in sexual relations together, to which they complied with exhibitionistic, theatrical pleasure, Q slid off the couch and stumbled to the refresher.

"Where are ya goin'?" Pandi jumped up to follow him, only to receive a door slammed in her face.

Inside, alone, Q immediately sat down and let himself break down. It occurred to him that this behavior was a temporary relief. It wasn't changing matters at all. No matter how much he drank or how much sex he had, he was still human, and in fact felt even more human when he awoke in the morning. He was just wasting what precious time he had left.

He couldn't have been human more than four months, but he already felt tired, impatient. His entire body ached from being mistreated and pushed past what most humans would tolerate.

The refresher was paneled throughout with mirrors, an idiotic flaw in decorating that Q was currently condemning. He glared at his reflection, and it glared right back, and he was overcome with a sudden, stinging feeling of self-disgust.

Disgust. Simple repulsion at where he was. Pandi pounded on the door and called his name, but he just focused on that pathetic image in front of him. He was sitting on a bathroom floor, drunk and thinking incoherently while reprobates engaged in base corporeal activities, constantly living from moment to moment with no conception of the larger scheme of things.

And he was one of them! What had happened? How had he gotten here? He couldn't tear his eyes from the image. It showed all his worst failings and weaknesses, his utter inability to transcend his mortal limitations and rise into something he once was.

The abhorrence with himself just worsened, and his revulsion, combined with the large amounts of alcohol, turned into a bodily response, and he threw up. Usually he felt redeemed after this activity in a morbid way, but this time it just led to more self-disgust.

Some claimed that disgust was the key emotion needed to inspire change.

But change had been the root cause of all his misery.

Ignoring the loud, pounding music and the similar pounding inside his skull, Q meticulously opened his plastic bag and analyzed its contents. A random thought fluttered through his mind. Sometimes he felt these thoughts whenever he passed by a knife or a jar of corrosive acid. He'd feel the compulsion to take that knife and stab himself or drink that acid. Was that what suicidal ideation felt like? Whenever he saw these objects and mulled over their deadly uses, he wondered, _well, why not? What was stopping him? _

When the question entered his mind this time, he didn't ignore it. He mulled it over, seriously this time, and tossed four cubes into his mouth. It wasn't enough to kill him, he knew, but he didn't really want to die. Just hurt himself a bit. Perhaps just pass out for a few days.

Before the Yalotta had even dissolved on his tongue, he had stumbled his way back to the party. He didn't want to be found unconscious in the damn bathroom, now, did he?

He felt the effects of the drugs almost immediately, an extreme euphoria overcoming him. His exhaustion and alcohol-induced migraine evaporated and he actually began to enjoy himself again, even allowing the Pandi woman to make her advances with moderate interest.

Twenty minutes passed in a blur of jumbled conversation, music and movement. He remembered almost falling over a few times and saying a number of things that either offended or thoroughly confused many of the guests, but no one was sober enough to think twice about it.

"Yer wrong!" A man was arguing with Nentres over the subject of 'politicals.' "Asvero's group doesn't stand a chance against th' Authority! Th' elites will capture him an' kill him before he can make his first move!"

"Yer wrong!" Nentres shot back. "Everyone knows that the Arukeh have the mobil..._mobilizations_ t' take down th' Authority. 'Vero's been workin' on it fer th' last decade. It's fuckin' frightening. But I tell ya, if his cou-p is successful, all of humanity on Dessica II will be fucked royally."

"I don't see what th' fuckin' difference is between th' Arukeh and the Dessican Front, frankly," a third voice mumbled.

Nentres shook his head. "Th' Dessican Front kinda doesn't want t' systemetallically murder all th' humans on Dessica II, fer one. They wan' a reformation. Arukeh's a terroristic organization whose objectivity is t' kill all th' elites."

"And maybe rightly so!" the first man burst out. "Th' outsiders, th' humans mostly, have made all th' Dessicans second-rate citizens on their own planet! Asvero's right t' want t' take it back!"

"Yeah, but what he wants is nothin' short of gen'cide."

"Genocide! Shut up, Drysten. You don't know what yer talkin' about. Asvero just wants t' overthrow the elites, you idiot."

His mood taking a downward turn again, Q was about to pop another two cubes into his mouth when Nentres ran over and batted them away. "Enough of that! How many of those have ya had already? Fuck, yer gonna make yourself sick takin' it orally like that!" He turned around and called to someone in the kitchen. "Ardock! Do you still have those snorting tubes?"

At the mention of snorting tubes, Q nearly scrambled out of the room as fast as his wobbly legs would carry him. The last time they had used 'the snorting tubes,' Ardock had ran around the room screaming and vomited behind the couch. As Q fled, the Pandi woman hurried after him into the bedroom, where he deposited two more cubes into his mouth.

"Y'should lie down," she said, pushing him onto the bed. "Relax."

Too disoriented and apathetic to fight back, he quickly acquiesced to her prompting and reclined on the bed.

Lying down had been a welcome feeling, though it didn't make the room stop spinning or help him collect his thoughts. He had to close his eyes because nothing he was seeing made any sense, just a jumble of colors and distortions that made him nauseous. It was worse than kaleidoscope vision.

_I cannot possibly sink further._

She stopped whatever she was doing (he was only aware of it in the back of his mind) and looked up. "Yer not fallin' asleep are ya?"

He could only manage a "hmph" in response.

When she had finished and was resting her head in the crotch of his pants, the treacherous Yalotta decided to wane enough for a brief instant for him to realize where he was. Through his mixture of emotions, he felt a deep pang of pain, disgust and inner desire.

Luckily, he was still holding the bag in his hand. He wasn't able to count how many were left, but he figured darkly that it was probably enough to kill him. Funny. He had always anticipated that if he had decided to commit suicide, it would be in some dramatic way, such as a hanging or jumping off a building or the classic slitting-of-the-wrists in the bathtub. But common sense and the capability to analyze his actions had all since left him.

It was just impulse, not even suicide, really. Maybe he truly did desire to die, but he wasn't capable of analyzing his emotions either. All he knew was that he had started to cry and just wanted to stop.

So he emptied the bag. Easy enough. Presently, he was drifting into a soothing sleep. His entire body relaxed, allowing with a flood of relief for the much-awaited rest to overtake him.

He had been aware of nothing for a long time. Just drifting in the limbo of an undreaming, tranquil sleep.

And then he was standing beside a lake he had never seen before. The water was calm and as he bent down, he could see his reflection in its surface, the reflection of his true self, at least as well as his human brain could now conceptualize it. But it was enough that he could recognize his non-corporal form. Almost instantly, the reflection shimmered out of existence to be replaced with his current human form, staring back at him.

Q reached out to touch the surface of the water, and the reflection mimicked the action. Then his reflection's hand reached out of the water and grabbed his arm with a sudden tenacity and threw him into the lake. Q heard himself yelp in surprise, but once he crashed into the water and started to sink like a dead weight, he could no longer hear anything except the frustrated movements of his thrashing limbs.

A sudden undertow took hold of him and forced him down. He tried to fight it, but it quickly became obvious that all his attempts were futile. He tried to scream, but all that accomplished was emptying his lungs of air and filled them with water. Asphyxiated and tired, he quickly sank, letting the current overtake him. He could feel his mind following the current, drifting from the lake and into a river where he was losing himself, and he couldn't stop it. He was utterly powerless.

/ / /

Clutching his temples, Q collapsed to the floor, a choked sob issuing from deep in his throat. The effects of the spice were amplifying the deep pain the memory caused. He had heard about humans sometimes undergoing flashbacks, but had not expected he would ever experience one, much less had he expected how torturous it would be. He had known he had the capability to be impulsive, but he did not realize he could act so recklessly with his own life. It was a realization that frightened him, and he knew it wasn't a fabrication. It wasn't a hallucination.

Unable to repress it any longer, he allowed himself to cry softly, frustrated and disgusted with his inner weakness.

On the bridge, Trenton looked at Shien, his voice quiet. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you what will happen if this doesn't work."

The other Aldreenian avoided his gaze, staring at the blank viewscreen. "You don't."

Half an hour later, a disgruntled-looking Q crept out of his room, his hair wet. The smugglers watched his movements closely.

"Are you all right?" Shien asked, frowning.

Q stood in the center of the bridge as if he had not heard him. "How much longer?"

"You're just in time," Karne said from his post. "We'll be in range of their hail in two minutes."

"When they hail us," Shien added, "you're going to have to be the one to talk, for obvious reasons."

The human nodded in comprehension. "Just focus the angle on me."

"Leaving warp and going to impulse power," Ops announced. "We've arrived to Starbase 22."

"Onscreen."

Karne shot a questioning look to Shien, who silently nodded an affirmative. He turned back to his controls and the image of a space station flashed on the viewscreen.

"We're being hailed," the doctor pressed a command. "Now's when we see if this little buffer of yours actually functions or if you're just full of...Well, bets, anyone? No? Fine, here it comes."

The bust of a woman appeared before them. "Yridian yacht, please identify yourself and state your business."

"_Well, fuck me,_" Trenton whispered.

Q shot the doctor a smug smirk and turned back to the woman. "I'm Abel Keynan, captain of this yacht. I'm requesting passage to Earth."

"They're scanning us," Karne warned, his voice tinted with apprehension.

"Captain Keynan," the woman said, "the next earliest transport to Earth leaves the station in seven hours. Is that adequate, or would you--"

"That's just wonderful. You can go ahead and make the arrangements now."

She narrowed her eyes a moment, then nodded. "Your vessel will be allowed to dock at the following coordinates. When you reach the station, be sure to verify your identity and complete the transaction. Starbase 22 out." And the screen went dark.

"Brusque bastards with their bureaucratic--" Trent mumbled. "I don't see why we couldn't just take you to Earth directly and leave. It would be much easier."

"It's much less suspicious this way," Q explained, leaving the bridge and returning a moment later, having retrieved what few personal belongings he had, mostly clothes. "Federation citizens don't own personal starships." And at that moment, he really wasn't in the mood for standing out in a crowd.

"Easier to track them that way," Shien agreed, steering the craft at the conn station. Gingerly, he maneuvered the _Anathema _to the specified coordinates and docked at the starbase before standing up and rushing to Q's side. "Do you have everything you need?" Before the other could even answer, he sputtered out, "Are you going to be okay? Maybe you shouldn't go by yourself, you never know what could happen!"

"Goddammit, Shien." Trenton picked up Q's small luggage and carried it to the transporter room. "He's a billion years old, remember? If he can't handle himself by now, he probably deserves whatever comes to him. _Relax._"

Q watched the doctor walk out of hearing range and smirked at Shien. "He's right. I _know _what I'm doing." And with a toss of his head, he followed the other to the transporter room.

Setting his teeth, Shien exchanged a look with Karne, and they both joined the other two. There was little ceremony or any formal good-byes. It was quite unsatisfying. The human was so resolute, no one thought better than to question his decision. A moment later, he was gone.

Shien gazed at the empty transporter for a beat. "What if he decides not to come back?"

"We'd be so lucky," the doctor retorted merely out of force of habit.

Karne snorted and walked out of the room. "If he wanted to leave and not come back, he would have done it a long time ago."

* * *

Starbase 22 was lively with the bustling of impatient Federation civilians and over-caffeinated Starfleet officers rushing to their posts. Overcoming the initial disorientation the transporter caused him, Q stumbled off the platform.

At the transporter station, an ensign beamed at him ingratiatingly and pointed to a booth. Following the direction of the officer's finger, Q ambled his way through the crowds, inwardly praying that no one would recognize him. In front of the indicated booth there was a long line of individuals of various species carrying their baggage with them, waiting for their authorizations. Surmising that mortals would stand in line for anything, the human bypassed this line and made his way to the front of the booth.

"Excuse me," Q interrupted insincerely. "I want some service. Right now. I don't have all day."

The Cardassian at the front of the line stared at him as if he had just stripped off his clothes and was dancing naked in the middle of the station. He raised a polite finger. "I think you've made a mistake--"

Q shot him an unimpressed once-over. "Haven't we all?" He returned his attention back to the woman behind the desk, leaving the Cardassian to scratch his head at that. "I want passage to Earth," he asserted, tapping the desk surface with his index finger to punctuate his words. "Now."

"Hey, you jerk!" someone blurted out. "Who do you think you are?"

"Yeah!" another added, "We were here first! And I'm in a hurry!"

"Get to the back of the line! The nerve of some people!"

"Settle down, everyone," the attendant said, making a pacifying hand gesture. "Let's try to be patient." She smiled at Q. "May I see your identification, sir?"

For a brief instant, the human's face mirrored that of the Cardassian, who gaped in abashed surprise. If he had tried something like this on Dessica II, Q thought, he would have surely been floating weightlessly outside the space station by now. In several pieces.

Taking advantage of the Federation pushover's agreeable attitude, Q pried out his identification and handed it to her in a flurry of good grace, smirking as he felt the Cardassian give him a dirty look.

She took it and inserted the thin device into her computer terminal. Although he could not see the display, he already knew what she'd see. Since he was a registered Dessican citizen living outside the Federation's jurisdiction, she would only have access to the bare minimum of his file. No picture, just his name, age and race with no way of verifying he was who he claimed, forcing her to proclaim him an unregistered passenger.

"This is taking forever," someone whined.

The woman glanced at Q another moment and said something to someone else in the back of the booth. Her supervisor approached from behind and they started talking in whispers, putting the human on edge. The supervisor checked out the computer console for himself, looked at Q, frowned, and retreated to fetch his own supervisor.

By the time the Starfleet lieutenant appeared, Q's heart was beating savagely in his chest and he was barely able to control his trembling hands.

The lieutenant glanced over at his file and looked at him.

"If it's about me cutting in line, I can go to the back!" Q burst out.

She shook her head. "It isn't anything like that, Mister Keynan. Under normal circumstances, this would not be a problem, but apparently there is a, ah, blemish on your file that we cannot ignore."

Q glared at the Cardassian, who was gleefully leaning over his shoulder to listen to this.

"A new treaty that was recently implemented between Dessica II and the Federation," she continued, "requires us to turn over any Dessican citizen who enters our jurisdiction that is wanted by the Dessican Authority. Apparently, you and some of your compatriots owe your government a substantial amount of assets and they have filed for your capture. It isn't my place to judge, but you'll have to come into our custody now."

Q's head whirled from this information. "What? No! This is a misunderstanding!" he wailed, trying to shake off the number of Starfleet officers who had descended upon him. "Get your hands off me! Where are you taking me? Let-- I renounce my citizenship! I'm not Dessican! I have _rights_!" He yelled loudly as they began to drag him away to the brig. "You are violating my-- I will not allow myself to be treated in this barbaric manner!"

The airlock clamped shut behind him, cutting him off. The Cardassian chuckled pleasantly at this turn in events and resumed his own transaction at the front of the line.

Q was promptly deposited in a holding cell, a force field barring him from all escape.

The two Starfleet officers who had brought him to the brig actually dusted off their hands, nodded once, and stalked off without a word.

Well, this most certainly did not bring back fond memories. He was completely alone in his cell, with only the snores of someone in the block next to him to keep him company. Escape most certainly would be futile, and would probably exacerbate his current situation.

"Hey, you," Q called to the guard seated at one of the security terminals. "Don't I get a phone call?"

"A...what?"

This was ridiculous. He had been on his own for only five minutes, and he was already imprisoned. Perhaps Shien had been right: Q_ did _need him. But his pride was much too overblown and his ego too fragile to allow this outright admittance of helplessness and need.

"Never mind."

It was six hours and twenty-two minutes before the lieutenant reappeared in the brig. Q knew this because he had been asking the guard at least once every ten minutes how long he had been there, much to the officer's extreme annoyance.

She dissipated the force field. "Mister Keynan."

Q rubbed tears of boredom from his eyes. "What? I hope I'm gettin' a speedy trial, 'cause if it takes a year t' convict--"

"You're being released. You're free to go."

Q stared at her in astonishment. He wasn't about to go until he got an explanation for this change in procedure, though. "Is this a trick? Why? Why am I free t' go?"

"Someone paid your debts as well as your bail," she explained patiently. "You are no longer a criminal on Dessica II. You are free to go about your business. Your transport leaves in forty-five minutes."

"_W__ho_ paid my debts?"

"The reports neglected to mention names. Regardless, you're free."

Q stood up and paced a moment, mulling it over as he stroked his chin. "This isn't right. I don't want t' be indebted t' anyone. This is suspicious."

"I'm sure when you return to your home planet, someone will explain." The tension in her voice was rising by degrees. "Now, if you'll--"

"But what if it's some abominable person, and they come calling some day demandin' that I return the favor? What a horrid idea!"

"Mister Keynan! Step out of the cell _now_ and return to your normal business or I'll have you escorted out."

"Fine," Q groused, slowly leaving his cell and following her out of the brig. He retrieved his luggage and this time waited in line and retrieved his boarding pass with ease. Thirty-five minutes later, he found himself walking through an airlock leading to his designated transport.

Since the trip to Earth itself would only take two hours at warp four, Q ambled over to the lounge, discovering that he had not eaten in almost ten hours and was suddenly famished. He took a seat at one of the tables, and accessing his restaurant script, waited for the attendant to take his order. After the waiter had taken his notes and scurried off, he carefully absorbed his surroundings.

There were at least a hundred people in the lounge talking quietly over the soft instrumental music playing in the background. At first, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to stand out. Then he caught sight of a vaguely familiar figure seated at one of the nearby tables conversing with--

Q rubbed his eyes. Yes, that was definitely the Cardassian he had cut in front of earlier. But the man he was talking to filled him with more interest. Not realizing he was overtly staring, he analyzed the man closely for any sign as to why he seemed so familiar. His skin was covered with a multicolored spots that reminded him of Freggus. Ah, he was Dessican. He could only make out snippets of his dialog, but it was enough to realize that the man did not possess the accent.

_"...finding the time...the Federation committed...enough of the patience to...extraneous circumstances...you do not understand, Dunard, what that means."_

The Cardassian narrowed his eyes as if taking offence to something. _"That's enough...your insults are not...the front as far as I'm concerned...won't...with your organization...Asvero...excessive use of threats...and frankly, I don't either."_

The second name sounded familiar, but Q could not place it, wincing as it nagged the back of his mind incessantly.

The Dessican, Asvero he guessed, mumbled something inaudible, punctuated by a hand gesture the human did not recognize. But it had its desired effect considering that Dunard abruptly stood up and replied with his own curt retort before turning on his heel and walking out, his back facing Q.

Asvero watched his dining companion go, a slight smile lingering on his lips.

Q averted his eyes back to his plate, which was now full of food. He smiled thinly at the waiter, nervously trying to shoo him away with his eyes.

But it was too late. The Dessican had caught attention of the movement at the nearby table and turned around. Their eyes locked for a brief moment.

Although it was difficult to gauge the other's height while sitting, it was clear that Asvero barely reached five and a half feet. Despite his short stature, the man must have weighed nearly as much as Q-- his entire body was a mass of corded muscle, easily distinguishable under his thin, simple robes. His head was almost completely shaved except for the numerous tufts of black hair that had been purposefully spared, standing straight out of his scalp like solar flares.

Asvero cast that knowing smile in Q's direction, sending a shiver down his spine. Then, without a word, he quietly stood and left, flicking him a brief side-glance over his shoulder.

Q quickly finished his dinner, and after tossing his crumpled napkin onto the table, he stood and drifted across the lounge. He walked aimlessly for ten minutes before he heard an announcement on the intercom alerting the passengers to their approach to Earth. A mass of people suddenly rushed to the viewports, peering out to get a glimpse as the vessel approached the planet's vicinity.

Shoving a number of people out of his way, Q managed to obtain his own magnificent view of the globe. He did not know why he suddenly cared so much, considering he had seen the dustball over a thousand times since it was merely a lifeless clump of minerals, but he could feel himself becoming excited by the other mortals' ebullient enthusiasm. He smiled and waited for the docking procedures. The Federation had done it, he thought with something akin to pride. They had triumphed over the Borg.

* * *

The young boy peered through the dense foliage at the compact figure standing in the open field. He spied on his bald uncle through his mask of leaves and branches for a long moment until he distantly felt a pair of eyes fixated on _him_. The boy turned to see a tall, very imposing man also prowling behind the safety of the brush.

The man squatted until they were both eye-level. He was dressed strangely in an armor the youth couldn't identify, and his predatory demeanor frightened him.

Q tore his gaze from Picard and looked obliquely at this underdeveloped nuisance. "What are you gawking at?" he hissed at the boy under his breath. "Shoo, brat!" He accentuated his words with a forceful wave of his hands.

The boy's eyes widened. Not about ready to challenge the stranger's command, he scrambled through the bushes noisily, sprinting in the direction of his house in a whirl of fear.

Picard walked past the rustling bushes, quite aware that someone was spying on him. Considering Earth's current lack of social instability or crime, the thought of being ambushed did not cross his mind. "Okay," he stopped, good-natured. "Whoever you are, I can hear you."

_I have to sneeze_. Q pinched his inflamed nose, struggling to suppress the incessant urge that threatened to give away his hiding spot. His eyes watered, and he forced his body to remain still, watching as Picard approached the brush. He was so close, he could reach out and touch him. After a long, agonizing moment, the urge to sneeze evaporated.

"You might as well come out," Picard pressed. He was about to continue on the trail when he heard a rustling of leaves and branches behind him.

The tall figure stepped from the foliage and into the clearing. Picard immediately stiffened at the sight of the other man. The brightness of the glimmering sun above was reflected against the man's foreign armor.

"Who?" Something about the man was vaguely familiar, especially about the way he stood, constantly posturing.

"Really, Picard," the man scolded in a familiar drawl. "You should know better than to be so trusting. What if I had been some reprobate marauder?"

The voice was the dead giveaway. Cautiously, Picard started forward as he closely analyzed the other's face. Suddenly, he drew back in stunned recognition. "_Q_?"

Q crossed his arms over his chest, and seemed to wait for something. When the question did not come, he asked, "Aren't you going to ask me what the hell I'm up to this time, Picard?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll reveal your intentions soon enough. I'm in no hurry to find out."

Q raised his brows. The arrogance. How annoying. "Not in a hurry?" Smoothly, he slid forward, invading the captain's personal space.

Picard flinched slightly, the conditioned response that always elicited itself whenever he was in Q's presence. His nemesis was standing a mere foot away from him, but even though he was deliberately trying to look menacing, Picard didn't find himself threatened. He analyzed the other closely. "What happened to you, Q?"

"I think the better question is: what _didn't _happen to me?"

Picard eyed him for a long moment. "Indeed. It would seem," he said, fetching his duffle bag and turning away, "that you have yet to earn your powers back from the Continuum." He offered a brief smile. "Walk with me."


	10. Chapter 10

~*~New Content~*~

I took a break from editing one of my novels to write this long overdue addition. I have no idea if TNG fandom is alive or dead, but please review if you're interested in seeing this finished. If I continue to post, the chapters will come shorter than previous installments, but possibly more frequently.

I've never used a beta, and this isn't any different. However, I haven't written these characters in years, so smack me if I slip on the characterization.

_Eye on what I'm after_

_I don't need another friend _

_Nod and watch your lips move _

_If you need me to pretend _

_Because clever got me this far _

_Then tricky got me in _

_I'll take just what I came for _

_Then I'm out the door again _

--_The Package_, A Perfect Circle

Picard hadn't expected Q to take him up on the offer. What he'd expected was a contemptuous, possibly disdainful remark about not taking orders from lesser beings. He'd expected at least _some variety_ of retort. Instead, the other man had pulled off his helmet, propped it underneath his armpit, and followed Picard down the path without a word.

Turning, Picard led him in the opposite direction, away from Robert's house. Q undoubtedly noticed, but Picard wasn't about to let the trickster near his family, powerless or not.

Under normal circumstances, the words "vacation" and "Q" never deserved to coincide in the same sentence, save for nightmare scenarios, but the sight of his former nemesis did not inspire an immediate inner groan, or the knee-jerk suspicion of tricks and manipulation. Picard wanted to brush off his lack of mistrust as simple fatigue. This had been a long, dreadful few weeks. He was exhausted; he couldn't muster up the energy to argue with the likes of Q. But much as he'd welcome some self-delusion right now, Picard had never been one to fool himself. He knew full well that the unexpected sight of Q hadn't brought him any preemptive irritation.

No, he'd been relieved.

And, considering that his own crew—people he regarded as his closest and most trusted friends—were unable to help him right now, he decided to seize upon that feeling and see where it took him.

Not that he would tell Q any of that, of course.

"I admit," Q said, "I expected a less welcoming response from you, Picard. What, no probing questions? No righteous indignation? I'm disappointed."

Picard forced his voice tight, aloof. "Don't misunderstand. You'll get plenty of questions. Later. For now, however, I'd rather enjoy the day."

Q nodded, and then wiped his forehead with the back of a hand. "The air. It's very . . . clean."

It seemed like a strange observation, and Picard made the note to ask about where Q had been the past few months. It didn't take Data's Sherlock Holmes to piece together the evidence, though. By the look of his armor, Picard could easily guess that Q had stayed with "ambassador" Sal Shien and his troop of mercenaries. The implications of _that_ were endless. "How long have you been on Earth?" he asked.

"Didn't take long for you to start in on the interrogation, did it? Old habits die hard." But Q's voice was surprisingly upbeat, and he rewarded Picard with a brief smile before turning his face back to the verdant fields. "Four or five hours. I took the transport to France the instant it became available. I couldn't have been that far behind you."

"How did you know where to find me?"

Q's lips curled. "Omniscient, remember?"

Picard shot him a side glance.

"Well," Q amended quickly, kicking a rock down the path, "I forgot a great many little tidbits about you and the future, but this wasn't one of them. I knew you'd come here."

Picard almost pressed him for elaboration, but he decided to add that to the lengthening list of things he'd ask later. What kind of "tidbits"? Had Q known about the Borg invasion all this time?

"Come now, Picard. Are you really that surprised to see me?"

Picard readjusted his duffle, switching hands. He was, but he wasn't in any state to have a long, drawn out conversation about it. "Where are you staying?"

The snort he received in response told him that Q had not prepared for this. Q had always been calculating, but in the end he preferred to stand back and watch everything play out. He excelled at adapting, thinking on his feet. They both did. Picard wondered if he should be flattered that the former god had come all this way merely to visit him.

"I'm certainly not offering to let you stay with my family," Picard added.

Q turned toward him and laughed—that same patronizing, imperious laugh he hated—and Picard almost spun on his heel and left him right there. He didn't have the patience for this, not when he was doing his best to be _friendly_ with a person who had once treated him and his crew like playthings.

His irritation must've registered on his face, because Q instantly sobered. "Really, _mon capitaine_. I accepted your hospitality once, and I may only be a sliver of my former self, but I'm not a moocher."

Picard raised a meaningful brow. "Indeed?"

Q huffed. "Yes, _indeed_! You'll find no deadbeat Q here—I can handle myself without anyone's help, thank you very much."

Picard had heard more convincing speeches from Wesley.

"Besides, I have no interest in visiting your _relatives_. You're obtuse and boring enough without being a dirt farmer in some backwater countryside on an equally backwater planet."

"Then what_ are _your plans?"

Q shrugged. "I saw a bed and breakfast around." He stopped, twisted, and waved vaguely toward the east, toward the village. "Around there."

Picard took that moment to glance over Q's appearance. The other man's dark hair was significantly longer, wavy and unruly as the breeze swept through it. It hid his receding hairline well. Q stood straighter, without the slouch that had plagued him in his early days as a human.

But that was the end of the positive improvements. In profile, Q's nose looked strangely crooked, as if it had been broken and reset by unskilled hands. He had put on muscle mass, particularly around his shoulders and arms, but his face was gaunt and unshaven, and there was a wariness in his bloodshot eyes. Despite the liveliness in Q's voice and gestures, the man looked exhausted.

Picard grudgingly sympathized. "I think I know the one." He took a long breath and savored the fresh air. "I'll meet you there later."

Q's eyes widened, almost comically. "You will?"

"Don't mistake my meaning. If Robert hasn't changed in twenty years—as I suspect the man hasn't—then I'll surely need a break come this evening."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Knit a sweater?"

Picard didn't dignify that with a response. He made his way back to his old home, fully aware of Q's eyes digging into his back. _And I thought you could take care of yourself, _he thought with a smile.

* * *

They were all staring at him. Q normally didn't mind the admiring gaze of a few gawkers, but this was entirely different. They frowned and whispered as he walked down the village street, and none of it was praise. It didn't take long for Q to figure out it had something to do with his getup, and he quickly ducked into the nearest clothing shop. When he ordered the shopkeeper to direct him to their finest hillbilly garb, he found himself staring at a rack of tunics and loose-fitting trousers not unlike what Picard had been wearing.

At least they weren't jumpsuits.

The selection was unimpressive, and Q settled on a violet tunic and brown trousers. When he emerged from the shop, he was partly relieved—and partly disappointed—to find the crowds ignoring him. He was one with the mob now.

Q booked a room at a quaint inn with flower boxes hanging from the windows and dumped his luggage onto the floor. Stretching out on the bed, he pulled out his bag of Yalotta spice and popped a cube into his mouth. It dissolved into a sour sludge. The cube wasn't enough to get him giddily high, but it would curb the migraines and nausea, he guessed. He didn't want Picard learning about that weakness. Of course, Picard wouldn't mock him for it—Q was sure of that—but it was humiliating enough to be out of control without him seeing just how pathetic he'd become.

Birds whistled outside his window. Earth was nothing like the skuzzy paradise of Dessica II, and although Q had visited Earth countless times throughout its history, watching and tormenting the humans, he'd never just sat still and savored the trees, the sun, and the stupid squawking animals.

On Dessica, the smog was everywhere. The dirt and grime hung in the air and clung to his body, and he never felt clean. After a half hour outside, his skin would be covered in a black film that took a good scrubbing in the shower to wash off.

Q missed it.

He waited, tapping his fingers on the comforter, but the sun was taking eons to go down and it was so _boring_.

Finally he couldn't lie there and wait any longer. Tucking a knife under his belt, Q headed out.

The crickets were out when he returned to the cottage. He'd scoped out the place before Picard arrived and had a sense of the layout. Q crept around the edges of the yard and, catching sight of a light in a window, crouched behind one of the many trees. He could only get a few glimpses of the dining room and the back of Robert's head. Too bad. He'd been looking forward to watching this cozy family scene turn into a soap opera.

When there were no signs of an oncoming screaming match, Q turned away. He didn't care; the older Picard with his grape vines and wine cellar didn't interest him in the least.

Well, maybe the wine cellar did.

Continuing his search for amusement, Q paused in front of a window near the back of the house. It had been left open to let in the summer breeze. Sneaking wasn't one of Q's best abilities. He could be graceful to an extent, but his human body was prone to lumbering and far from nimble. So Q took his time climbing through the window, careful to land softly.

Inside, he could hear Picard and his family prattling away on some matter—traditions and childrearing and blah blah blah. Q ignored it and shimmied along the wall and down a narrow wooden staircase, wary of the slightest creak in the floorboards. At the bottom, he tried the door handle and smiled when it clicked open.

Q took a breath of warm, musty air and glanced around. Wooden barrels were stacked neatly along the stone walls, but his quarry was in the mahogany racks. He grabbed four of the nearest bottles—Cabernet Sauvignon or something—and stuffed them in his pack. Grinning to himself, he headed back up the stairs.

He was near the top when he caught movement and ducked down. His heart pounded and adrenaline coursed through him as the little brat from the bushes hurried past, carrying a sheet of paper in his hands. Q sighed and shook his head.

Once the boy was gone, Q climbed back out the window and dropped to his feet. Too easy. He slung his pack over a shoulder and strolled around the property, wishing he could brag about his victory.

The waiting game resumed.

He was picking grapes in the field when Picard burst out the front door and stormed down the road. "Finally," Q mumbled. Bee-lining through the vines, he rushed to Picard's side. "At last! I thought you'd have me waiting forever, Jean-Luc!"

Picard glanced to him and slowed—barely.

"What's got you in such a tizzy?"

"_Robert_."

"I didn't know there was someone else besides moi who could put you in such a state. I need to meet this man."

"Be my guest. You'll likely murder each other."

"I'm not going to solve _all_ your problems for you, Picard. What'd he say?"

"Nothing I haven't heard hundreds of times already."

Picard seemed reluctant to go into any detail, and for that Q was grateful. He hadn't cared. "So where are you taking us?"

"If I remember correctly, there used to be a spot not far from here where my friends and I used to camp as children. "

"How positively romantic."

"If you don't like it," Picard snapped, "you're welcome to go back from where you came. I can think of plenty of ways I'd rather spend my night than babysit you."

Suddenly Q really _was_ interested in what Robert had said to him during dinner. Maybe going somewhere secluded would work to his advantage. "My, my. Relax, _mon capitaine_. Show me the way." He bowed and extended an arm. "Please."

Picard led him off the road and down a winding overgrown path, evidently working from a combination of memory and instinct. But they weren't alone. Q heard the voices long before they reached the clearing. Four teenagers sat around a campfire, laughing loudly.

"So much for your secret spot," Q said.

"I hardly called it a secret. Let's go. There are other—"

"No." Q stared at the brats. This was Picard's spot, his moment. And Q wouldn't let them keep it at his expense.

"Come on, Q. There's no need to make a scene."

"You forget who you're talking to." With an ostentatious twirl, he pulled out his knife.

Horrified, Picard grabbed his wrist. "Q!"

"Easy! I'm only kidding, _kidding_! Really, what kind of knave do you take me for?" When Picard loosened his grasp, warily, Q sheathed the blade and made his way to the campsite.

The laughter died down as Q approached. He set his arms akimbo and surveyed the dirty-faced youths. "All right, insects, scram. I'm appropriating this campsite."

One of the brats snorted. "Like hell you are, old man."

Q felt a flare of annoyance and set his teeth. But with Picard watching, he didn't dare drop-kick the boy. Instead, he advanced forward, staring straight at the leader. "Listen, you little pest." To his satisfaction, the boy drew back. "You'll take your pubescent friends and leave, now, or I'll _will _you into nonexistence."

The youths exchanged glances. Whether they took the idle threat seriously or were uninterested in arguing with an "old man," Q didn't know. They gathered up their belongings, mumbling under their breaths, and shot him dirty looks. Q watched them leave.

Once they were gone, Picard crouched in front of the fire and warmed his hands. "I see you've found a way to cope with your mortality," he said. "Picking on lesser beings seems to be your forte."

Q scowled. Leave it to Picard to ruin any triumphant moment. "Good, you're finally admitting what you really are to me. A lesser being of supreme magnitude."

"_Was_," Picard corrected. Before Q could retort, he continued. "Where were these past months, Q? Starfleet, my crew—we tried our best to find you, but we thought you'd been sold off to one of your enemies, or worse."

"I was." Q paced around the campfire. He didn't want to get into this, but he'd known the conversation was coming. Picard was expecting answers, and already Q could feel the truth eager to spill out of him. "After Shien drugged and kidnapped me, he and his friends sold me off to the Tätarians—one of the pathetic races coming out of the woodwork to torture and kill me."

Q rubbed the bridge of his nose as the unpleasant memory surfaced. The starvation had been unbearable, but at least he could escape in sleep. If his captors had deprived him of that, he would've begged for death. He remembered the pressure of large, rough paws on his hips, forcing him down. He'd tried to fight back, had thrashed and flailed despite his weakness. It hadn't worked. He'd been grabbed by the back of the skull and shoved forward. His nose cracked against stone, snapping the bone and sending a gush of hot blood streaming across his face. "They almost got what they wanted. Shien, he—" Rescued? Saved? Annoyingly intervened? "Brought me back. I spent some time training on Dessica II, and now it seems I'm traveling with them. Unlike someone I know, they actually _want_ me to be part of their crew."

Well, that was only half the truth, but Picard didn't need to know the details.

"And this man," Picard said, "this Sal Shien who kidnapped you, sold you to your enemies, what does he do?"

"There you go again, always looking on the negative side! What gives you the right to judge him?"

"Q, it's hardly my place to interfere as long as you're safe and happy. _Are_ you happy?"

Q was taken aback. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? "What?"

"It's a simple question, Q. We tracked down the signature of Shien's ship, and we were able to piece together what might've happened after your kidnapping. The authorities on Aldreen were none too cooperative, but we tried to find you. I was never even sure if you were alive or dead."

Q lowered himself to a log and rifled through his pack. He drew out a wine bottle and set to work prying off the cork with his knife. Picard was merely trying to lay down facts, explain what he'd done, but his voice carried a deeper current of worry. "Are you trying to say you missed me, Jean-Luc?"

"Is that from Robert's cellar?"

"Stealing is fun. Don't change the subject."

"You were under my command," Picard said. "It was my duty as captain to protect you."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second."

"My point, Q, is that we tried to find you. But did you want to be found? Did you try to contact the _Enterprise_, Starfleet, anyone?"

"I—a few times. I wanted to be rescued, at first."

"Then I take it you have no intention of returning to my ship?"

The thought had crossed Q's mind, but whenever he thought about those eighteen days aboard the _Enterprise_, he cringed. His situation might've improved if he had given it a chance, but he didn't care to bother finding out. "I like it out here. I don't have to take orders, I'm not consumed with menial tasks. Yes, I'd rather put my skills to better use, but I don't care about Starfleet or honor or advancing the human agenda. I'm not the Federation's pet god. The less I help humans defile the universe, the better. And, best of all, I don't have to deal with Troi nagging me. Out here, I'm—" He cut himself off.

Picard nodded, silently prodding.

"Accepted," Q finished.

To his surprise, Picard smiled. "I'd like to think that, with time, my crew would've treated you as one of them, but perhaps that was naïve of me."

"Glad to give you another kick in your complacency." Q popped off the cork and took a long, lingering swig from the bottle before handing it over. "As far as happiness . . . I can't be happy. Not as a human. There is no planet or ship where I'd be content without my powers. If staying on the _Enterprise_ ranks as a negative twenty on the misery scale, Sal's a negative ten."

Picard propped the bottle on a knee and made no move to drink. "It's impossible to take you seriously when you're so damned melodramatic."

"You don't understand, Jean-Luc. I'm serious. I'm constantly terrified, since the moment I wake up, sometimes while I'm dreaming. It's terror I've never experienced before. No melodrama, no exaggeration—I'm not trying for your sympathy, I don't need it. I'm terrified, helpless, but . . ." Q took a long breath and frowned. "On the other hand, while I no longer have complete freedom to do what I want, go where I want—"

"Toy with who you want."

"—I'm free of the Continuum. And there's some pathetic freedom in my own mortality and limitations. It's simpler." Q groaned, unable to believe he'd even said that. But he continued on, fully aware that he was rambling. "I'm paralyzed now. Essentially crippled. You could've pointed to any spot in that sky, Jean-Luc, and I could've—would've—taken you there. Time wouldn't matter. The difference is so vast, I can't even fathom it anymore."

Picard shifted around, and Q knew he was treading on uncomfortable, possibly even dangerous territory. At least now, maybe the bastard would finally understand what it was like to be brought down and humiliated and devalued for something he didn't deserve. This was what he'd been trying to tell Picard all those months ago.

"You must've been well-hidden," Picard said. "There was a sizable reward for your rescue. No doubt someone would've recognized you."

_Not so fast, Captain_. _You're not changing the subject again_. "Oh, yes. I took a new name. Abel Keynan. It was all Sal's idea, and I admit it was very clever, the notion of reinventing myself. I became a totally different person."

Picard bristled. Slowly, he narrowed his eyes. "I know what you're trying to do, Q," he said tightly. "For a self-proclaimed trickster, you're as subtle as a gorilla."

"Did you just liken me to an _ape_?" Q said, eyes wide. "_Me_?"

"My experience as Locutus was _nothing _like the Continuum taking your powers. The fact that you're even _comparing_ the two is laughable. The terror and loss of control and outright _humiliation_—I never would've suffered through that ordeal if it weren't for you and your bloody tantrum. And now you're mocking me with your feigned sympathy. This is a low, Q, even for you."

For a long moment, Q was speechless. His mind flashed with expletives he'd heard in the bars of Dessica II, but he bit down the overwhelming urge to shout them out. Q gritted his teeth and smoldered his temper. "For the last time," he said, "I didn't have a tantrum, and I was doing you a favor."

"All I recall is a petulant entity trying to force a mortal into admitting that he needed help."

"So what?" Q slid beside Picard and leaned forward until he was invading his personal space. "So what, Picard? Since when has both helping and humiliating you been mutually exclusive? If I hadn't exposed your crew to the Borg, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. There'd be nothing left of your worthless grapes and your piddling family but a giant crater. The Borg would've assimilated all of you."

"Even if that's true, eleven thousand innocent people still lost their lives. And if you hadn't introduced us to the Borg, they would've never come for me personally. And you knew all of that, and you didn't breathe a word of warning."

Q let out a frustrated _pfft_ and jumped to his feet. Picard continued to stare at him like he'd been the one blowing up those thirty-nine ships at Wolf 359, and that angered him more than anything. While it was true that he'd known the Borg would return and remembered, dimly, that Picard would be abducted, he wouldn't intervene even if he had his powers. It would change nothing. He'd worried and agonized about it as the time grew nearer, but the fool was so set on painting him as the bad guy that he would never believe him. Snatching the wine bottle from Picard's hands, Q stalked off into the woods. This was a waste of time.

"Oh, brilliant," Picard called out. "You've said your piece and now you're running away. You're a coward, Q."

* * *

Picard could've sworn he heard Q mumble a "fuck off" as he stomped off into the underbrush. If Q still possessed his powers, he would've simply snapped his fingers and vanished, but being human had made his getaways less than elegant.

This time, he wouldn't be fleeing a conversation. Picard stood and followed him into the trees. "Why did you even come here, Q? If your goal wasn't to reunite with the _Enterprise_, then what was it? Could you just not pass up another opportunity to gloat? To mock me?"

Leaves crunched as Q stamped around up ahead. "I've got better things to do with my finite existence than ridicule an open target."

Despite himself, Picard felt himself smile at that. It was difficult keeping up with Q's long strides, but he was closing the distance between them. "Then what's the real reason?"

Q stopped and turned toward him. He opened his mouth, looking almost worried, then hesitated. _This should be good_, Picard thought wryly.

Setting the wine bottle and his pack on the ground, Q favored Picard with a sneer. "I wanted to see you. That's right. I missed all the fun onboard the illustrious _Enterprise_, so I had to see for myself how the smug human who treated a Q with disdain had been brought down by a race as unimaginative and unambitious as the Borg."

Picard felt like he'd just been sucker-punched. The pain radiated across his chest, seemed to burn and gnaw at him and sting his eyes.

"Your crew got lucky and saved the day, as usual," Q continued, voice derisive. "But that's not after you _caved _into the Borg and surrendered all your precious secrets. Did you even put up a fight, Picard, or did you just let them assimilate you like some—"

Picard swung out and decked Q, hard. His body trembled with rage, moving on simple impulse. Q stumbled back. His second punch brought the smug former god to his hands and knees.

_He could've avoided that last one,_ Picard thought, though he couldn't pinpoint why. Q didn't know the first thing about fighting, much less defending himself. Q would just curl himself into a ball and beg for mercy.

Q kicked Picard's legs out from under him, sending him crashing onto his back and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Picard gasped for breath. With a snap, the overwhelming anger shifted to resounding shame. What was wrong with him? Q had always deserved a good throttling, but the thought of _actually_ lashing out violently against him had never crossed his mind. As his breathing settled, Picard groaned in disgust.

Q rolled onto his side, and out of the corner of his eye Picard saw him spit blood. He felt another pang of guilt. Grunting, Q sat up, took a swig of wine, and collapsed onto his back.

They were silent for a long time. Eventually, Picard stood and crouched at Q's side and briefly met Q's eyes. Q watched him without malice or offence, without any indication that a snide remark was coming. Picard averted his gaze. He berated himself silently as he caught sight of the bruise blossoming around his left eye and the split lower lip. "I'm sorry, Q, there's no excuse for—"

Q burst out laughing. It wasn't mocking as he'd expected, but it had a hysterical edge that froze Picard. _My God, he's lost his mind_.

Q settled down and made a show of wiping a tear from an eye. "Of all the times to apologize . . . do you feel better?"

Picard finally realized what Q had been doing. Q had always taken apparent pleasure in provoking him, but this time he'd done it, for what? As some kind of bizarre release? "Why on Earth would hurting you make me feel better? Indeed, if anything I feel significantly worse."

"You're so damn enlightened, Jean-Luc." The mocking tone was back, full force. But this time Picard was sure he'd just received a genuine compliment. "Plenty of beings would jump at the opportunity to thrash me as you just did."

"That, I don't doubt."

"Don't I get a thank-you?"

Picard was trying to not think too much about what he was seeing. Q was on his back, lying in a heap of leaves and dirt with a bloody lip and black eye dealt to him by a plodding mortal, and he didn't appear in the least bit shaken. There was no outrage or even anger. If anything, he looked at home. _What the hell happened to him on Dessica II?_

Q was eyeing him with a raised brow, and he fumbled for a response. "You were right, Q. You're not to blame for the Borg. Not directly. What happened to me—Locutus—that was my own damned fault. If I'd only been stronger, if I hadn't—" He swallowed, finding himself suddenly on the verge of tears.

_No, I can't—I won't—cry. Not in front of _him_, of all people._

Somehow, that thought helped him choke down the tears. The ache in his chest remained, but he could deal with that. He'd have to live with it. For a very long time. Picard hazarded a glance at his companion. Q was chewing on his wounded lip, frowning up at the tree line.

"Well," Q drawled, "I see Councilor Troi really dropped the ball this time." Picard was about to erupt again when Q grasped his arm and pulled him forward. "You didn't deserve this. Understand? You didn't. If it hadn't been you, it would've been some other Starfleet captain, some _other_ clueless twit, and I assure you, Picard, that person wouldn't have handled the situation any better."

Picard shivered under Q's stare.

"You still have your ship, don't you?" Q continued. "Your ship, your crew, your fish—it's all there. You've lost nothing, except maybe some your precious dignity. Everything's back to normal for you. So shut up and count yourself lucky."

Of course, Picard knew that. He knew he should be grateful that he'd been able to separate himself from the Borg collective. He knew it was fortunate he'd even survived. But coming from Q, who was just as hard on him as he was on himself, gave the statement more significance.

"Q, I find it hard to believe that you've come all this way just to offer me friendly advice."

"Well, _duh_." Q sat up and knocked lightly on Picard's forehead. "Anyone home?" When Picard slapped away his hand, his face broke out into that infuriating smirk. "Come on, Johnny, I believe in you. You can do this."

Picard ignored the nickname. Naturally, Q couldn't be arsed to explicitly state what he wanted. He had to drag this out and force Picard to guess. Oh, Q was adept at asking for things and demanding his attention, but he fell into hints when he wanted to make a game out of it. Or when he wasn't comfortable with speaking the words. Q's current reticence spoke volumes about what he really wanted.

"Do you need help, Q?" he said. "Are you—is someone else in danger?"

Q jerked back, and Picard didn't know what to make of the confusion he saw there. Slowly, Q said, "Figures you'd be eager to put your hero hat back on. No, I don't need any help."

And while Picard believed that, he knew that wasn't the whole truth. Instead of pressing it, he stood and offered Q a hand. Hesitantly, Q accepted it and got to his feet. "It's getting cold," Picard said, walking back to the fire.

They gathered firewood in armfuls and settled in front of the fire in an almost companionable silence, with Picard occasionally poking at the embers. During those eighteen days Q had been onboard the _Enterprise_, the both of them had several conversations, but for the most part they'd avoided each other. It wasn't because Picard was uninterested in what Q had to say, but because it was impossible to stay civil. Their discussions usually devolved into arguments, with Q trying to reassert himself as the omnipotent immortal dominating Picard and his crew, and he wasn't about to play into that fantasy. Things had changed, and Q had been unable to cope with that.

Picard could see Q slipping back into that familiar script now, invading his personal space and goading him into anger. Q needed guidance in how to properly associate with humans, and that had been the duty of Data and Councilor Troi. Now, without them, he'd been taking his cues from mercenaries and common thugs.

_"You're the closest thing I have to a friend,"_ Q had said his first day as a human. Picard knew now that he'd been absolutely serious, and that was possibly the reason he was here now. Like it or not, there was a familiarity between them. And although he'd felt a momentary relief at having a person more difficult than Lwaxana Troi off his ship, he'd instantly regretted it.

_Here I'm so concerned about his motives, _he thought, _I never considered why I agreed to talk to him in the first place. That's the real question._

Picard rubbed his forehead. Sometimes he envied Robert for his traditions and ability to play it safe. Robert didn't have to deal with anything like this.

When he looked up, Q was smiling at him. "You're getting closer."

And for all his many social inadequacies, Q still managed to read him with the ease of a telepath. "I can't keep up with this guessing game, Q. Just tell me."

Q shook his wine bottle alluringly and held it out. "Then you'll need a lot more of this."

Picard grabbed it reflexively and realized that Q had just given him a hint. Wishing he'd brought glasses, he took a tentative gulp.

The wine was tart and smoky, warming his throat and chest, and he wasn't surprised that Q had already downed most of it. The human Q he'd known had been terrified of his new body and desperate to keep it under control. Alcohol was a paltry mortal thing that would leave him ravaged of all sense, and he'd avoided it. As someone who prided himself on his restraint, Picard understood.

Apparently, Q had gotten over all that.

He remembered Q in Ten-Forward, high off his mind and blissfully indifferent to Shien's arm slinking around his waist. Q complimenting his dress uniform, winking at him. Strangely, the drugging had left Q more like his old self.

Picard took another pull off the wine and shivered as the cold breeze brushed his nape. _Is that what he's driving at?_ During those six long, agonizing, _bizarre_ hours aboard the shuttlecraft, Q had tossed out an impressive amount of innuendo—enough that Picard had wondered what was holding Q back from acting upon it, and what would happen if he opted to set himself loose. At first he'd tried to ignore Q's leers, but the innuendo had its desired effect, and Picard had to dig his nails into his palms and focus on his burning frustration at being held captive so as not to let his conflicting emotions show.

He was sure Q had noticed. It had been clear Q's boldness every time he leaned into him.

But back on the _Enterprise,_ it was much as it had been before. And with the loss of Q's powers, they seemed to come to a tacit agreement never to speak of it. It didn't help that Q had to strut around and claim he was above every mortal delusion. It made being in the same room with him a nightmare, and they snapped at each other like it was second nature. Occasionally Q would make a crack about first dates and romance, but it had a flippant edge now. Picard wondered if it had been a joke all along.

He jumped as Q plopped down beside him, close enough that their thighs brushed, and he fought off the urge to scoot away. "So," Q said, running his fingers through his hair, "have you figured it out yet? Or do I need to draw some diagrams?"

Childish stick figures in sexual positions appeared in Picard's mind. He favored Q with a dry smile. "As subtle as a gorilla."

Before he could fight him off, Q was nuzzling his neck and sucking along his collarbone. Teeth grazed the sensitive skin and Picard tensed. "Call me a gorilla one more time," Q hissed, moving up to lick one of his earlobes, "or any other variety of primate, for that matter—and I _swear _I'll suck so hard your dear brother will think you visited a prostitute in town."

Picard grasped Q's shoulders. _Perhaps I deserved that._


End file.
